


Keeping Up With The Losers Club (And Other Things To Do While Stuck in the Sewers For Twenty-Seven Years)

by Puddin_in_my_time



Series: Stanley Uris Lives [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: (Debatable) Antisemitism, Body Image, Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, Horror Elements, Internalized Homophobia, Jewish Identity, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pennywise is in a funk depression, Racism, References to 1980s AIDS Crisis, References to canonical attempted rape/incest, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trauma, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:26:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22945495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puddin_in_my_time/pseuds/Puddin_in_my_time
Summary: A baseball bat swinging towards Its face.A wrench brought smashing down, courtesy of a boy with bleeding cheeks.A girl jamming a pole through what was supposed to be her worst nightmare.A boy, no longer stuttering, standing tall as he delivered the simple truth It had tried to deny:“Now you’re the one who’s afraid.”And then darkness.________Starved. Beaten. Humiliated. That's how the Losers Club left Pennywise after the summer of 1989, and with nothing to do but watch them go about their lives, that's how It'll stay until Its next cycle comes along.It'll kill them all. Eventually.But what happens to a dancing clown if the music stops?
Relationships: Bill Denbrough & Georgie Denbrough, Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh/Ben Hanscom (Love triangle), One sided Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, The Losers Club & Pennywise (IT)
Series: Stanley Uris Lives [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1481801
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. Being Depressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!  
> So first things first: this story is part of the "Stanley Uris Lives" series; if you haven't read the first two fics, you might want to do that before reading this one. However, much of this story will serve as a prequel to the events of the series, so if you wanted to, you could probably start with this, and then I'll put a little thing in the notes before a certain chapter saying "Hey, so if you haven't read 'A Good Night's Sleep' and 'Stanley', do that now and come back!" Your choice :).  
> Secondly: as with "A Good Night's Sleep" and "Stanley", this story will deal with Suicidal Thoughts, Mental Health Issues, and Internalized Homophobia, and will reference a suicide attempt. However, now that the entire Losers Club is front and center, more canon-though-potentially-triggering subjects will be brought into focus, such as: Grief/Mourning, References to Canonical Attempted Rape/Sexual Assault, References to the 1980s AIDS Crisis, and Place-Accurate Racism (as in Derry is a racist place, as seen in the book and 1990 miniseries). More warnings may be added, seeing as I am not yet finished writing this story, but that shouldn't be the case. So, if you are sensitive to any of the previously mentioned warnings, I recommend that you proceed with caution before reading.  
> Finally: I know I said this story would come a lot sooner, but I wanted to keep it in the oven for as long as possible to work out a few kinks. For that reason, chapters will alternate between weekly and bi-weekly, depending on how long they are. I'm gonna be upfront: this is to buy me as much time as possible to finish writing. So while today's chapter will be quite short (I'm sorry!), there will be a new, much longer one next week.  
> So, without further adieu: send in the clown...

_A baseball bat swinging towards Its face._

_A boy holding back the burning hands._

_A wrench brought smashing down, courtesy of a boy with bleeding cheeks._

_A trapped face, screaming but not surrendering._

_A boy, drenched in black vomit, swearing he’d kill It._

_A girl jamming a pole through what was supposed to be her worst nightmare._

_A boy, no longer stuttering, standing tall as he delivered the simple truth It had tried to deny:_

_“Now you’re the one who’s afraid.”_

_And then darkness._

The dreams vanished, and were quickly replaced by the only sight It had been able to see for the past few weeks now: Its lair. 

Pennywise huffed, and started towards the heap of objects again. There was always a chance It would discover something new there, something It had overlooked, and be able to claim a small snack. 

Nothing was there. It had checked just yesterday. 

And three days before that.

And a week before that. 

It took a seat by the heap, the damp ground wetting Its ruffles a little, but It didn’t care. They’d dry soon. And even if they didn’t, It didn’t care.

Pennywise had gotten so goddamn bored that It now thought about the potential dampness of Its clothes. 

_“Anything new, anything new, anything new for the nice mister clown?”_ It asked as It searched through some objects. Once they were examined It would toss them over It’s head and across the lair, just as It had been doing for a week or so now. Nothing seemed all that interesting, but then again each object barely got five seconds of consideration; It started to wonder if the small amount of joy It felt was less about discovering new items and more about the throwing part. 

There was a squeaking sound as an object landed on the ground, and then a rattling as the wheels balanced themselves out. 

Pennywise turned around and squinted. A small tricycle was sitting on the floor. 

It starred for a few seconds. The toy had bright pink handles. 

It scratched Its chin. _“Hmmm...if it’s fun for children...well then I don’t see any reason why it shouldn’t be fun for me.”_

...

Sitting down, the clown struggled at first to fit Its long legs on the pedals and keep Its ruffles out of the wheels’ paths, but once It got the hang of manoeuvring the vehicle, It was actually somewhat enjoying riding around the lair again and again. The clown would pedal through the oven-like dance stage, ring the little bell as It circled the well, and sometimes let go of the handles and raise Its arms in the air while riding. Putting your hands in the air made it more fun. Why didn’t the Losers do that whenever they rode? 

Pennywise sharply hit the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a halt. 

_The Losers Club._

The fun evaporated into a heavy smog of long dead joy. 

That’s when It realized something: riding this stupid toy was just like life. You have no real plan, no real goals, or at least none that are achievable, and you go around and around in meaningless circles trying to pick up some relative happiness on the way before something brings about the final push of your pedal. In this case, that something happened to be an unpleasant memory. But there was something else, too: a postcard, not far away. Why hadn’t It noticed it laying there before? It must have come in from the sewers fairly recently. Something flushed down a toilet or dropped into the barrens by mistake.

At first, Pennywise thought it would be a good idea to run it over and pretend the sound was from the snapping of human bones. But as the vehicle came closer and closer to approaching the small piece of paper, It stopped pedaling, briefly skidded to a halt, and picked it up. 

The crumpled photograph was the typical Derry souvenir, if anyone ever wanted such a thing: a wide shot of the town, the sky a lovely, false blue and the trees in bloom. But the card’s other side was what proved to be interesting. Or more specifically, the message that was scratched out:

_Hey Beverly_

_I thought you might like a little reminder of home. I know you had bad memories here, but it’s also where all of us are. And we miss you._

_I miss you._

_Can’t wait for your next call,_

_Bill_

_“Hrrrmmphff.”_ Pennywise tore the card to pieces and let them fall onto the ground, before rubbing Its hands off on Its clothes. “ _Disgusting children germs. I could have caught children things, like pink eye, or a cold, or sexless crushes on classmates.”_

The pieces were still on the ground. They weren’t as torn as they could be. Pennywise could still make out the writing. If It wanted to, It could still hear Bill’s happy, hopeful tone, still feel the Loser Club’s strong, stupid friendship. Perhaps in another life It had managed to tear them apart. Perhaps somewhere out there was a universe where the Losers Club had lost and Pennywise had won. There had to be. It even could go and check if It wanted to. But it wouldn’t matter anyways; that Pennywise wouldn’t be this one. This version of It still failed. This version of It had still been starving, for almost a month now.

It huffed and muttered and spat and stomped all over each and every scrap, Its massive clown shoes helping It pummel each piece into the ground.

It turned around and eyed the tricycle, before picking it up and throwing it against the walls of the lair. The pieces scattered to the ground as Pennywise stretched out It’s hand, letting It’s fingers extend into claws, just like It had done last summer when It scratched Ben, when It had the chance to kill them all while they were still scared…

It ran over to the familiar circus poster, scratched out It’s smiling face, and then picked up a jack in the box and bent down and smashed it against the ground again and again until nothing remained but scraps and springs. 

It went on like this for a while, destroying objects in the heap and random things that floated in from the sewer water, and then destroying the pieces left of those when It was done. 

Pennywise growled. It had had enough. When It landed in what was to become the town of Derry all those years ago, It had formed Its pattern: feed, then rest for a period of time, then feed again. But those feeding periods always ended on Its terms. This year’s didn’t. It was forced to rest early after the battle with the Losers, but that didn’t mean It had to stay down for long. It could resurface, feed on any bratty child It could find, and then amass enough strength to challenge It’s enemies. The Losers weren’t scared last time. Because they thought the nightmare was over. But what if It proved them wrong? It could feel what they were feeling, down in the sewers. They were still scared. Brave enough to overcome it, but still scared. It felt their fear every time they walked home at night or dreamt of the summer’s events or heard a strange noise while in bed. None of them were the same, not since that day at Neibolt. Their battle had changed them. _It_ had changed them. And not just in a metaphorical sense either.

Inside each child’s mind was a sort of infection, one that would tear them apart from the inside for the next twenty seven years, guaranteeing that if they failed to reunite and defeat Pennywise by that cycle, they would meet their ends. But why did It have to wait until then? Sure, the infection had a better chance of ensuring their deaths if it had more time to settle in, but it was working already, albeit only in side effects. Nightmares, actually; ones that It had no control over. Ones that came only from the minds of the Losers themselves, and would differ in how long they’d last or effective they’d be based on each child’s personality. If It acted before the initial signs wore off, if It fed and planned enough, It could use all that against them. It could enact Its revenge, and make them tremble in fear.

It could win this time. 

Pennywise grinned and started towards the sewers and made Its way through the watery tunnels, dodging and skipping and dancing through the filth and the greywater and towards the light. It was headed for the barrens. There was a chance that Billy would have brought his friends there, even though they’d abandoned their quest to find Georgie. Maybe they’d be there for a stroll down memory lane, or maybe even to gloat, to hurl insults at the clown they’d escaped. 

They _weren’t_ there; It would have sensed them. Still, It let Its imagination run wild with the jubilation and excitement It might feel when It and the Losers Club would finally meet again. Who to kill first? Stanley Boy? No, too obvious, too easy. Killing Bevvy or Billy would send a message to the rest of them. One of the braver ones had to go first. Maybe Richie? Or no- wait for him. Yes. Wait until he’s seen enough of his friends die in front of him so that there’s not a joke left to spew out from his stupid little trash mouth. Mike would need to die later as well, so he could feel the guilt of being completely, utterly unable to save his dear friends. He’d have failed them, just like he’d failed his parents as they burned, and as the realization dawns on him- snap! It would clench It’s teeth around the boy’s torso and tear him in half, and get to feast on his entrails while his mind was still conscious. Pennywise chuckled. It could hardly contain Its excitement as It came closer and closer to the light of the small town morning!

Or- what a surprise it would be if Ben was in the library one day, and all of a sudden an image jumped out from the pages of his book and tore out his jugular! Maybe _he_ should be the one to go first! More to feed on, after all. Oh, why did It wait so long to finally do this? 

Soon enough the stench of sewer rot had started to change, mixing with newer, fresher air courtesy of a crisp early Fall morning. If that didn’t give it away, the ever increasing number of fire coloured leaves lying face down in the water, and the growing hole of light in the distance, let It know that the barrens were near. 

By the next few steps It had reached the end, the hole of light now replaced by a close view of rocks and shallow green waters. 

With slow, steady optimism It raised one boot into the air, outside the tunnel, and finally down into the water. It wasn’t trapped anymore. It was free. It thought It had to wait, but It was just scared, a psychological curse the Losers had so cruelly placed on It as a result of their battle...no, no It wasn’t scared. It couldn’t be scared! Scared of what? The Losers Club? Of course not. It _was_ fear. It was eternal. It was everything that could ever strike terror into the hearts of children stored up inside one all-powerful being. And now, with one oversized clown shoe in the prison It condemned Itself to and the other in the open world, It only had one word on Its lips, one that, in all Its centuries of existence, It had never encountered until observing the Losers that summer, but one that nevertheless summed up everything It was feeling more perfectly than any other word could ever hope to:

_“Nope.”_

It turned around and headed back into the sewers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed that! Also: in case anyone is curious, each Pennywise-centric chapter will be named after a different thing to do while stuck in the sewers for 27 years, while each chapter that's dedicated to a specific Loser (or Losers Club relationship) will have a title that breaks that pattern. So you can always tell what's in store at the start of a new update.
> 
> Sincerely,  
> Alex M-M


	2. Catching Up With the People You Tried To Kill

A week or so had passed since that day in the barrens...or at least that’s what It thought. It was still new to keeping track of time the way humans did. It always just stalked and ate for a while and then slept for twenty-seven years when It had enough. Now It couldn’t even remember what “enough” felt like. 

Fortunately It had found a new favourite hobby: Loser watching, which was sort of like people watching but It only ever watched the same seven. And It wasn’t _technically_ watching them. More like...sensing what they were doing and what they were saying, and what they were wearing, and in certain cases, their thoughts. It would watch them when It woke up and watch them when It wanted to sleep, making the effort to memorize their routines so It could try to get up for the interesting parts of their day and try to fall asleep during the boring ones. Sometimes watching them was fun; random noises would make them jump, they’d walk a little faster in front of a horror movie poster, and absolutely lose their minds trying as hard as they could to coordinate their walks home so that no one went about their journey on their own for too long. 

Other times watching them was sickening. Them, with their laughter and hugs and support of one another. Them, with their writing to Bevvy every single chance they got. Them, with their inability to go into their dead sibling’s room…

Pennywise sat up. It concentrated on what It could already sense, on those certain thoughts and emotions and memories, until soon enough they came together to form the present moment…

~~——————————~~

As a kid Bill had a book of fairy tales that his mother would read to him from time to time; he was never that big a fan of them, but he was so young at the time that anything his parents read to him was soothing enough. When Georgie came into the picture his mother would do the same, but he always slept easier whenever Billy read to him. His stutter made it difficult, and often frustrating, but he’d see the smile on Georgie’s face and continue without a second thought. The two got good use out of that book, until Georgie got too old for tales of knights in shining armour and graduated to dinosaurs. But one such story found in that book was Hansel and Gretel, and, to make sure his brother never got too scared, Bill would always make great fun of the characters’ incredibly stupid decisions.

“ _Hansel and Guh...Guh...Gretel walked up to the candy house, and started munching away.” He’d turn to Georgie and say. “Hansel and Gretel must not have been very s-s-smart.”_

_Georgie would laugh, and say “You wouldn’t go in?”_

_“Nope.” Bill would shake his head._

_“Not even if there was apple pie?”_

_“Not even if there was ap-pp-ple pie.”_

_“Not even if there was ice cream?”_

_“Not even if there was ice cream.”_

_“Not even if there was_ chocolate _ice cream?!”_

_“No. I’d never g-g-go in.”_

_“I don’t believe you!”_ Georgie folded his arms. _“_ I’d _go in.”_

_“Yeah. I know you would, G-g-georgie.”_

Bill was very tempted to change his answer, now that he was faced with a candy house of his own. Only the house wasn’t a house; it was a room. And the house wasn’t made of candy, but rather stuffed toys and Legos and a bed that was always made. And the house didn’t belong to a witch, but rather to a ghost. But this ghost didn’t speak or show itself the way ghosts did in movies, for this was a ghost that wasn't really there at all. And those, as Bill had discovered since last October, were the worst kind.

That morning, he stood in the doorway of Georgie’s bedroom, wondering if he should go inside. He never did; not since that one night in the summer. Everything had been preserved perfectly, just how Georgie himself would have left it, and Bill was scared he’d mess something up if he went in. But he always stood in the doorway, safe enough so the ghost couldn’t harm him, even though the pain in his chest told him otherwise. 

“H-h-hi Georgie.”

The room stayed silent.

Bill walked down the hallway. He’d be late for school if he stayed any longer.

~~——————————~~

Pennywise rolled Its eyes. _“What a yellowbelly.”_ Or was that not a saying anymore? According to the Losers the new term was “pussy”, but It liked to think of Itself as an equal opportunity child-eating demon.

The rest of Billy’s day wasn’t nearly as interesting; he just met up with his friends in the morning and went to class, the start of his day in front of Georgie’s room still lingering through it all. But at the school day’s end, when everyone went home to finish up their homework so they could meet later, the sadness returned again. Only this wasn’t quite sadness; it was frustration. No- it was anger. No- it _was_ sadness. Or perhaps a mix of the two. And it wasn’t coming from Billy…

~~——————————~~

“Hello again.” Mike smiled. “I’m here to answer your sign.”

The librarian hadn’t blinked since he walked through the door.

“The, uh...one for student volunteers?”

“Oh.” The librarian nodded slowly. “Ah yes. That one.” 

Mike nodded back. “Yeah. I’d love to help out, if the spot’s still available.”

“Well, it is...but the position is only available for students of _Derry_ institutions,” The librarian said. “The homeschooled need not apply. If you’re looking for work, I’m sure there’s a restaurant in need of a dishwasher perhaps.”

Mike took in a breath, and smiled with just enough snark that it remained detectable only to him. “I mean...a little extra help wouldn’t hurt, right?”

“Well, you know what they say about too many cooks in the kitchen, and all.”

“Uh-huh.” Mike eyed her clutching her purse. He made a mental note to roll his eyes later. But not now. Now, he just had to get this done.

“Look, I really, really wanna work here,” Mike said. “I have so many...fond memories here, spending time with my friend Ben.”

“Benjamin?” The librarian furrowed her brows.

“Oh, you know him?” Mike feigned innocence. “Wow. Such a small world.”

“He’s a sweet boy,” The librarian said. “Only child I know in this town who seems to love learning for the sake of learning.”

“Well you know, I share that passion with him,” Mike said. “Reading up on this town’s history, just ripping through every Dickens and Shakespeare I can find…”

The librarian’s eyes widened.

“...not literally! But yeah, I just love to read, and learn. And I’d love the chance to volunteer here too. You know, give something back to the place that gave so much to me?” He wasn’t _lying_ ; he did love to read, and to learn. He wasn’t a Shakespeare fan (because he wasn’t a masochist), but as a kid he spent many nights reading _Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ past his bedtime and far from the watchful eye of his grandfather, who seemed to hate every book Mike ever loved and insisted he spend his time on eighteenth-century texts no one cared about anymore. And he did love history, even Derry’s; it was disturbing, sure, but it was interesting. And he’d need to know it. For his plan.

“Hmmm.” The librarian took a moment to think. “In that case...well, this place does get quite messy. We may have need for an extra helping hand after all.”

Mike sighed with relief. “That’s great. I’m so, so glad.”

“Wonderful. You can start Monday night. Four o’clock, on the dot.”

“Looking forward to it.” He held out his hand to shake. She looked at it like he’d thrown a live snake in her face. 

“Forgive me,” She said. “I have a cold. Wouldn’t want to get you sick too.”

Mike nodded. “Okay. See you next week.”

The librarian waved at him and he flashed his middle finger as soon as he was safely out the front doors.

Mike hated the library. He loved history, and he loved reading, but he hated the library. And he hated pretty much everyone in this stupid town except the Losers, and the former made it very clear the feeling was mutual. But he needed to do this. Time in the library, access to all the books, even the banned ones, was the first step in his plan.

His plan to kill Pennywise.

~~——————————~~

The clown raised Its eyebrows. 

~~——————————~~

The summer of 1989 had brought him together with the best friends he’d ever had, the best friends he ever would have, and he was beyond overjoyed to have them in his life. But that didn’t mean he had to thank Pennywise for any of that. Or Henry Bowers for that matter. But while Bowers was at the bottom of that well for good, Mike had a sneaking suspicion Pennywise wasn’t. It couldn’t be. They didn’t see It die. There’s no way It was gone for good, not when It had been slaughtering children since the town was founded. Beverly even said she saw them all back in Derry when they were adults. That couldn’t have been just another illusion. And if Ben was able to piece together the clues that lead to Pennywise’s existence before, there had to be more on the clown they hadn’t discovered yet. There had to be a way to kill It, or a ritual to learn more, _anything_ that could help them in twenty-seven years. Because It would come back. Mike knew It would. And when It did, he wanted to kill It. He wanted to stop the clown’s reign of terror on the town, to save any other child from the clutches of Its hunger. More than that, he’d never had a group of friends before, and now that he had Bill and Eddie and Bev and Ben and Stan and Richie, he wasn’t going to let anyone take them or the happiness they brought him away. But there was another reason too:  
That summer had broken Mike. Years of being told by his grandfather that it was a kill or be killed world, and he’d still managed to hold onto hope. Onto himself. But after that day at Neibolt, something changed. He’d lost all that. Pennywise failed to kill him, that was true, but that didn’t mean Mike got away. It took something other than his life. It took his innocence. His hope. And now It was going to pay. So yes, Mike was going to be eating some shit for the time being, but only so he could reach his endgame. He was going to learn all he could about Pennywise, find any weakness or anything that ever came close to killing It, and he was going to wait twenty-seven years in that goddamn town so he could end It, once and for all. He was willing to do whatever it took to make It feel as hopeless as he did that August, whatever it took to keep his friends safe.

Whatever it took to kill Pennywise the dancing clown.

~~——————————~~

Pennywise hadn’t stopped laughing for the past ten minutes now. 

_“Oh me, oh my, ohmeohmy, ohohohahahaHA!”_

It had tears in Its eyes. That’s how hilarious It found everything that just happened.

The clown flapped Its hand open and closed like a mouth and said in a high pitched voice _“Oh, look at me, I’m Mike, I’m just going to…_ ” It almost couldn’t get the words out. _“...kill PENNYWISE! AHAHAHAH!!”_

It went on laughing way than it should have. 

_“Okay, okay,”_ It said, dabbing Its eyes with shreds of popped balloon. _“Enough of that. Hmmm… let’s see what Bevvy is up to! All the way in Portland...”_

~~——————————~~

Private schools were weird.

That was Beverly’s first impression on her first day of her new school, and based on the things she’d experienced in the weeks afterwards, she was yet to be proven wrong.

_“Seriously, what’s wrong with my hair?” Beverly had asked. “Plenty of girls here have short hair.”_

_“It’s not that it’s short,” Her new friend said. Well, not technically new; they’d met before Portland, though they only knew each other enough to say hello. She was one of several former Derry residents whose families had moved there sometime during the series of child vanishings that past year. There was Cissy, the girl she was talking to now, and her twin brother Calvin, and her old neighbour Skipper, who now went to a high school a few blocks away. “It’s more like...the way it’s cut.”_ _  
_

_“Oh.” Beverly massaged the back of her neck._

_“Not that it looks bad! It’s just a bit...sloppy, that’s all.”_

_“I thought I did a pretty good job all things considered,” Beverly said with a slight smirk._

_“You cut it yourself? Why would you…” Cissy covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh right, because you were poor. Sorry.”_

_Beverly squinted for a moment, and thought to herself: You know what? Sure. Somehow that’s the happier version of the story._

The Student Code of Conduct wasn’t the only change to adjust to. In Derry, if someone had a problem with you, they’d let you know to your face. They’d steal your lunchmoney, or throw you in a locker, or write “For a good time call [Insert your name here]” on the bathroom stall doors...subtlety was hardly anything to worry about. But here in Portland, or at least at Beverly’s school, everything took place behind people’s backs. 

_“Dude, did you see the new girl? Beverly Marsh?”_ _  
_

_“You know why she’s here, right?”_

_“It totally has to do with the Butcher of the Barrens!”_

_“She’s gotta be one of the kids who took him down, right?”_

_“I can’t even imagine. I mean that must’ve been_ terrifying _.”_

_“She’s so weird. And she’s rude.”_

_“Why does her hair look like that? What, is she a dyke or something?”_

_“My mom’s known her aunt for years and she’s never mentioned a niece, or any family in Derry. That’s totally weird, right?”_

_“Why doesn’t she wear any makeup?”_

_“Why does she live with her aunt, anyways? Where’s her parents?”_

_“She’d be pretty if she dressed nicer. Maybe dropped those ugly boy boots she's always wearing.”_

_“Why doesn’t she talk to any of us? What, she thinks she’s too good for us?”_

_“Did you see the way she looked at me during homeroom? Like, ‘Um, are you_ trying _to be so obvious?’”_

 _“She’s gotta be traumatized or something. I mean she and her friends were almost_ killed _.”_

 _“What’s her_ deal _?”_ _  
_

She was used to rumours, though she had hoped that being in Portland would have given her the chance to get away from all the talk about her in Derry. Still, this wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. If anything, she was more bugged about being The New Kid. _Jeez. Now I know how Ben felt._

One thing she did like about her new school was all the clubs it offered. Considering all the awful things she’d been put through (often on continuous loops, if you took her nightmares into account), keeping herself occupied at all times was a pretty big priority. Being alone with her thoughts made it all too easy for them to get the best of her, so the busier she made herself the better. Plus, as her aunt had said, joining a club was a great way to make friends at a new school, a department in which she was sorely lacking. 

That’s how she ended up spending her Friday afternoon in a band meeting running late. Her aunt was cool about these sorts of things, and pretty good at giving space when space was needed, so she wasn’t worried about that. What she was worried about was whether or not this teacher would ever stop talking so they could all go home. 

“Now, I know that many of you are only joining this club because you hear the word ‘band’ and automatically think of whatever generic crap your generation listens to these days. Well, let me tell you, that will not fly...”

Beverly checked the clock. _4:40...wait, still? How? Why?_ She threw her head back and cried a little on the inside

“We appreciate the _classics_ here. _True_ music. Mozart. Beethoven. That’s forever. Here, I’ll prove it to you: Mr. Clark?”

Calvin’s jaw trembled. He was taller than most students, and broader too, in a way that should have ensured he’d play on a sports team and leave his twin sister at the bottom of the school hierarchy. But as the kind of guy who helped old ladies cross the street and voluntarily did most of the work in group projects, he was much too kind for that. He raised his hand slightly and adjusted his glasses. “Y-yes sir?”

“Name what you listen to when you pop by the record store.”

“Uh...um...just anything?”

“Anything. What’s your favourite?”

“Oh, uh...The Police, probably.”

The teacher burst out laughing, and pointed at him. “See? God, do I worry about the world we’ll be leaving you all.”

Beverly rolled her eyes. 

“I can guarantee you all, we will not be playing anything like that at the Spring concert. Now, as I was saying before: we in this club are not _band members_ ; you are studiers of the art of music. Can we all say that? Together, now!

He gestured for the students to follow suit as he bellowed _“We are studiers of the art of music!”_ _  
_

“ _We are studiers of the art of music.”_

“Again! Once more unto the breach!”

_“We are studiers of the art of music.”_

“Come on! Put some enthusiasm into it! Throw some pizazz!”

“ _We are studiers of the…”_

_“You are a douchebag.”_

_“...art of music.”_

Everyone went silent.

Cissy turned to her, jaw dropped. Calvin sank into his seat a little.

The teacher folded his arms.

Bev’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh shit. Sorry. That was meant to be behind your back.”

~~——————————~~

_“Mmmmm.”_ Pennywise shut Its eyes for a moment, and tilted Its head. _“Mediocre, at best. Though certainly better than it could have gone”_

For all the misfortune It was endured, the clown was still grateful for a few things, one of which being a certain stroke of genius It had back at the end of August: stopping Beverly’s dreams. After she left Derry, It realized that as a result of floating, she was supposed to be spending the next twenty-seven years dreaming of the unfortunate fates she and the other Losers would suffer if they didn’t return for Its next cycle. And while the thought of Beverly seeing herself and all of her friends die horrible deaths every single night was a blissful one, It wasn’t ready for what would come next. Because Beverly, in all her insufferable bravery, would surely tell the Losers of her dreams, and it wouldn’t be long before they’d all figure out It was still alive. It wasn’t quite ready for that. Obviously Stanley would be overwhelmed with fear, and yes, chances were he would kill himself to avoid having to face It again, but the others would be brave enough, and wouldn’t just wait around for It to finish resting. No, they would storm the Wellhouse and then the sewers, now fueled by the death of their friend, and they wouldn’t leave until they’d dragged It out of wherever It would try to hide and crushed Its heart in their hands. And Pennywise wouldn’t be able to fight back. Because they wouldn’t be scared. They would be angry. They would be grieving and tired and furious, and It would be shaking and whimpering and completely powerless as they killed It. As just seven children in just one moment put an end to Its centuries of living.

So It couldn’t let her know It was still alive. It needed time to plan Its next move.

But It had twenty-seven years, so It could afford to stall for just a bit longer. 

“ _Eds? Anything special going on with you?”_

~~——————————~~

The weekend before, the Losers Club had all hung out at Eddie’s, mainly at Richie’s insistence. Eddie’s mom was out for the night, and his friend complained all day that if he didn’t disobey her and have them all over, then he was surely still under her manipulative thumb. So Eddie agreed, under a few terms: 1) No one could trash or mess around with anything; 2) No one could leave anything behind; 3) Everyone had to eat before coming and no, he would not put out any chips or snacks and 4) Everyone needed to bring homework and keep it visible at all times, so in case his mother came home early they could say they were there to study. say they were just there to study. Richie, of course, made it his mission to break at least one of those rules by the end of the night. And as soon as the other boy showed up at his door, Eddie knew exactly which one. 

_He_ _stood_ _there, jaw gaping._

_Richie was at his front door in a thick, knitted sweater. He pretended to shiver. “Ooof. Cold out, isn’t it?”_

_“No.”_

_“Okay, well you’re not the one freezing your ass off.”_

_Eddie shook his head. “Nuh-uh. You’re not coming in here with that fucking thing on.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“Cause I know what you’re doing!”_

_“And_ what is that _?” His voice was so forcedly oblivious that its true nature shone through like sunlight through a paper curtain, especially with the slight smirk on his stupid face._

_Richie looked over Eddie’s shoulder and waved. “Oh, hey Mike!”_

_“Hey…” Mike furrowed his brows. “Why are you wearing something I’d get my grandfather for Christmas?”_

_Eddie looked back and forth between the two. “Wha- do you not see what he’s doing?!”_

_Mike scratched his chin, and shrugged. “Keeping warm and trying to come inside?”_

_“No!” Eddie pointed at the boy in question. “He’s clearly only wearing that thing so he can say he’s too hot and then take it off and forget it here!”_

_“Okay...why would he do that?”_ _  
_

_“Cause of the rules, Mike! He’s gonna take his sweater off and leave it just to piss me off! But you know what?” Eddie shrugged too aggressively for anyone to believe it was_

_sincere. “I don’t even care. In fact, I_ want _him to take that stupid sweater off. Go on! Go for it! Right now!”_

_“Oh.” Richie’s mood changed. His face dropped into a sincerity it never, and he placed a and on his wool-covered chest. “Eddie, I...I had no idea you felt that way about me…”_

_Eddie reached forwards..._

_“Wait Eddie wait-”_

_...and slammed the door shut in his face._

_Mike just looked annoyed._

_“What?”_

_“You realize what you’ve just started, right?”_

_There was a series of deafeningly loud knocks at the door. “Guys. Guys. Let me in.”_

_“No.”_

_“Eddie. Eddie. Eddie please, it’s really cold out.”_

_There were footsteps going up the staircase, until Bill and Stan and Ben had shown up in the hallway too._ _  
_

_“What the hell was that noise?” Bill said. Behind him was Ben, trying to tell Stanley to take deep breaths._

_“Guys!” Richie cried out, turning it all up to a fifteen. “Let me in! It...it’s so cold...I...can’t hold on…”_ _  
_

_He slumped down on the other side of the door._

_Stan held his stomach a little. “Eddie just let him in.”_ _  
_

_“Stanley! Stanley, let me in! I promise, I’ll stop with the Jewish jokes!”_ _  
_

_“No you won’t.”_ _  
_

_“Pfft. Yeah I won’t.”_

_“We can’t let him in!” Eddie said. “That’s just what he wants us to do!”_

_“You’re b-b-breaking the rules,” Bill said._

_“No one should ever have to be outside alone at night,” Ben said. “Even if they are...Richie.”_

_“That’s an exact quote!” Mike said._ _  
_

_“Wha- he’s not alone!” Eddie said. “He’s right here.”_ _  
_

_“So just let him in,” Ben said. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t leave anything behind if that’s what you’re worried about.”_

_“Really?”_ _  
_

_“Yeah. I promise.”_

_Stan nodded. “Me too. I’ll help. Just let him in, okay?”_

_Eddie took a few moments to think. “Fine.” He turned around and opened the door, revealing a sunken, gasping, flailing Richie._

_“Guys...guys the light...guys I see the light…” Richie looked up at his friends and jumped onto his feet. “Sweet.” As soon as he walked into the house, he started to fan himself. He looked around at his friends for a moment. “Wow, am I learning something about myself or is it really hot in here?”_

_Eddie held out his hands, ready to grab the other boy’s throat._

Richie did somehow manage to leave his sweater there, although Eddie couldn’t quite remember how. He must’ve had help or something. He left with the sweater on, and then somehow it was on Eddie’s couch...or maybe he _didn’t_ have it on. Eddie may have just been too distracted to notice. Either way, Richie had brought it up maybe once the next day, accusing the other boy of “holding my fucking sweater hostage”, and then seemed to just forget about it. But Eddie remembered he had it. And before he gave it back, there was something he wanted to do. An itch he needed to scratch, that was all. Then things could go back to normal. 

So that day after getting home from school, Eddie went straight into his bedroom, closed the door, and did something that went against every fibre of his being: he gave the sweater a hug. 

He held on tight, letting himself imagine what it would be if Richie were still inside, and laid down on his bed, never faltering until he finally decided it was time to let go and do his homework.

He smiled, and felt a tug in his stomach. _Doing_ _his_ _homework_. So he could see Richie later. His friend, Richie. Because that was all they were. That was all Eddie wanted to be, and that was definitely all Richie wanted to be. Anyways, Eddie wasn’t some weird homo. He wasn’t gonna catch AIDS or something. He was normal. He thought girls were hot, like Beverly, even though he’d never thought to hug her clothes. Whatever. This didn’t matter. Eddie needed to focus on his homework, instead of stupid stuff like handsome faces or nice hair or butterflies in his stomach. 

He set the sweater aside and walked over to the kitchen table; he couldn’t do his homework in bed, or else his back would get used to being bent over and he'd develop a permanent hunch and then his mom would need to take him to get surgery.

The first thing he needed to do was read a chapter for English class. Ben said he’d already read the book, _Of Mice and Men,_ at his old school, and that apparently it didn’t end well or something, but reading it now, Eddie didn’t think it was so bad. There was even this one line about two friends in the book, how they each had the other to look after them, and Eddie couldn’t help thinking about how that was like The Losers Club in a way. All seven of them. But if he were being honest, he wanted it to be about...

He looked up, snuck in a glance at his bedroom down the hall, and then forced his nose back in his book. 

Nothing. There was nothing else to be honest about. 

He’d already thought everything there was to think about Richie Tozier.

~~——————————————~~

Pennywise was brought out of Eddie’s afternoon when It realized It had been absentmindedly feasting on some nearby pebbles.

It’s eyes opened wide as It gagged, preparing to spit them all out...only instead It pouted and swallowed, letting the small rocks slide off It’s tongue and down It’s throat with all the muck and mud and dirt of the sewer floor. 

And those Losers thought they had it rough! And why? Because It ate someone that shared some of the stuff flowing in Billy’s veins? Because Mike’s parents had burned to a crisp? Because the boy Eddie wanted would never want to hold him in his arms or whisper sweet nothings into his ear? People die. Parents, brothers, everyone. Without skin in the game, realizing the truth every human is terrified of becomes so much easier: that they’re all just specs in the grand scheme of things, dots on a vast never-ending stream of time that never remembered or cared about them, and would eventually kill off everyone who ever did. Everything the Losers felt were just occupational hazards of being human. They would’ve been better off if they’d just let Pennywise eat them. _Its_ life actually mattered. What would the world be without seven more kids growing up to be seven more adults working seven more dead-end jobs just to marry someone they’d get sick of and have kids who hate them? Oh, the horror. It, on the other hand, was never meant to die, ot now and certainly not twenty-seven years from now. Just feed, until the end of time.

Pennywise sighed, and looked up at the ceiling of Its lair. It remembered when It could go up to the surface and see the sky. It never really thought much of it; a sky was just a sky. Every world had one. And It still didn’t quite _miss_ having a sky to look up to; It lived in darkness by choice. But there was only so much a demon could take of being trapped in the same spot for a little under a month now. 

But It _wasn’t_ trapped. It could go up any time It wanted. Any wounds It had sustained during the battle with the Losers had healed enough, and since It wasn’t doing much resting It didn’t really need to stay down there. It could go up and eat and then come back down with ease. The Losers would suspect It was back, but It could use their fear against them and win this time. It knew they were still scared. It felt their fear. It could manage to kill at least a few of them. Stanley Boy for sure. Maybe Eds too. That would be revenge enough, at least for the time being. If It could just get Itself out of the sewer…

No. This wasn’t Its fault. The Losers had done this. They took away Its purpose, Its reason for being. They took away Its prey. And now It had nothing left except pure rage and the will to end those children. To take back everything they’d taken away. To be able to once again do whatever It pleased with the town that It had claimed so long ago. 

And It would. 

As soon as an opportunity came along. They weren’t expecting anything for another twenty-seven years, so It had plenty of time to strike while they weren’t expecting. Why rush and muck the whole thing up?

With a deep breath and renewed confidence in Its inaction, the clown hopped down the well and slid into the darkness. It had a long day of plotting against Its mortal enemies; rest was well-needed and deserved.

 _“Slow and steadies,”_ Pennywise said. _“Slow and steadies.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just in case it was confusing, a "..." in the center means a change of time, location or perspective, while a "___" in the center means a change of perspective from Pennywise to a Loser or vice-versa. Also big thank you to Fandom Wiki; there were no OC's in this chapter, all of Beverly's new friends are minor characters from the It novel (which I have not read yet, because ya boy doesn't want to be traumatized all over again).
> 
> See you next time,  
> Alex M-M


	3. The Empty Bedroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> With everything going on right now, I just wanted to take a moment to wish health and safety for anyone who may be reading this. This is a very long chapter, so if anyone's bored and stuck at home, maybe this can help.  
> Sincerely,  
> Alex M-M

Pennywise had woken up with glee that morning, Its gloved hands rubbing together in anticipation for the moment to come. Billy didn’t always do this, and when he did he never managed to fully see it through, but whenever he tried he always managed to put a smile back on the clown’s face…

__________________

The door to his room was open, for some reason. Not just a crack, like always, but wide open, something it was never, ever supposed to be. The place it lead to was private, and immaculately kept. No one was even allowed in. Clearly someone didn’t get the memo.

Bill stared through the open doorway and into the room. With September approaching its end at the end of the week, the realization was dawning on Bill that he’d soon be faced with the most painful of anniversaries: the day this room had stopped being filled with life and laughter. 

The day Georgie died. Not the day he went missing, like he’d once thought. The day he died. Bill knew that now. 

Bill’s stomach turned in on itself. He had to look away. He told himself he’d do this, that he’d need to prepare himself for when he’d visit the grave that month, but he couldn’t now. His chest was tense and aching and he was wiping his eyes so many times he was practically punching himself. 

He turned and walked down the staircase. _Not yet,_ he thought. _I’ll_ _do_ _it_ _soon_. _Just...not_ _right_ _now_.

…

“Hey!” 

Bill looked up from his sketchpad and saw Mike walking towards him. He stuffed it in his backpack, zipped it up, and called “H-h-hey!” in return.

Mike took a seat next to him on the bench, and looked around. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Ben wanted to finish up a project he’s working on with Eddie,” Bill said. “Stan and R-r-richie are in detention.”

Mike furrowed his brows. “Stan? In detention? That doesn’t seem right.”

“He hasn’t been doing his h-h-homework lately,” Bill said. “Ever since school started. But I think he’ll be okay soon.” He looked over at Mike. “How’s your nightm-m-mares?”

“Uhhhh…” Mike shrugged. “Fine, actually. Not too bad, and I’m having them less and less. How’s Operation Tombstone?”

Mike was the only person who was really invested in Bill’s plan to get ready for visiting Georgie’s grave; all Eddie said was that the name Richie came up with was insensitive, you could never tell when Stan was zoning out or not these days, and Richie usually ignored things he couldn’t make a joke about. There was Ben, though, who suggested that they all go with him beforehand so he wouldn’t be too overwhelmed on the actual anniversary. Bill thought it was nice of his friend to offer, so he said he’d think about it while fully intending to never bring it up again. 

“It’s okay,” Bill said. “I went to his room this m-m-morning.”

“Dude!” Mike patted his shoulder. “That’s great! Baby steps, you know. It’s all about baby steps.”

__________________

Pennywise mimicked munching on a child’s limb, if only for Its own comfort, and nodded approvingly.

__________________

Bill looked at his lap, and then back at the other boy. “Can I just ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“How do you do it? Visit your p-p-parents, I mean. So often.”

Mike thought for a moment. “I...don’t really know how to answer that. I mean I see them cause I wanna see them, and it hurts but I’d still rather go than not go. But maybe it’s different for me. I’ve been going for a while now.”

“Yeah.” 

Mike took in a deep breath and sighed. “Let’s change the subject. This isn’t really a Friday night kind of thing to talk about.”

Bill laughed a little. “Yeah. It’s really n-n-not.”

As if on cue, Eddie and Ben and Richie walked through the doors, with Stan trailing behind them. 

“Ahhh,” Richie said, taking in a deep breath for dramatic effect. “Free at last. Seriously, who makes detention on a Friday? That’s just cruel.”

“So, what should we do?” Ben said. “Quarry?”

“It’s getting too cold to go,” Eddie said. “We should go to the arcade.”

“ _Well then let’s get a move on, good fellows!”_ Richie said with a clap and full British accent, wrapping one arm around Stan and the other around Eddie, and with that the Losers set out for the night. Stan eventually shrugged Richie off of him, but Eddie let him hang on a little longer. 

“So how’s the library, Mike?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah! I haven’t been in so long,” Ben said. “I kinda miss it, actually.”

“Awww, poor you,” Richie said. “You have to hang out with friends instead of being alone all the time jerking off to pictures of dead kids.”

“The library’s good,” Mike said. “I mean I’ve just been working in the basement.”

Everyone waited for him to add something. Himself included. 

“That’s it. That’s all I got. I’ve just been working in the basement. Filing stuff away and shit.”

“That really sucks, Mike,” Ben said.

“This whole town s-s-sucks,” Bill said. “I mean, you think things would be d-d-different by now.”

“She made a point yesterday to congratulate me for being so articulate,” Mike said. 

“Wait, why are you stuck in the base...” Eddie started.

Mike shot him a look.

Eddie furrowed his brows. 

Mike held the look.

Eddie squinted. “Because of…”

Mike nodded. 

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Because you’re…” 

Mike nodded again. 

“Because you’re…” He pointed to his face, and then pointed to Mike’s.

Mike nodded again. 

Richie facepalmed. 

Eddie took a few seconds to process. “Oh. Huh.”

“You got it?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. In case you didn’t though it’s cause I have short hair.” Mike and the others burst into laughter. 

“Okay, hahaha,” Eddie said. “We get it, I’m not as race-aware as you guys…”

“Whoah whoah whoah,” Mike said, placing a hand on his chest. “Who said anything about race? It’s cause I wore white after labour day.”

The others kept laughing along.

“Are you sure?” Richie said. “I thought it was cause you had brown eyes.”

Mike’s eyes widened. “You know what? I think that might be it!” He shook his head. “Man, I’ve gotta look into that.”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie said. “Get it all out of your systems...”

“Eddie!” Richie gasped. “Did you just tell Mike to get out?!”

“What? No, that’s not what I…”

Mike turned and dropped his jaw dramatically, hand flying to his chest. “Eddie! I can’t believe you right now! Shit, you think you know someone.”

Bill and Ben just stood by and laughed, letting everything unfold.

“Is Eddie even your real name?” Richie asked.

“Yes! You know it is! Look, you’ve had your fun, so could you guys please stop…”

Richie gasped. “You guys?” He turned to Mike. “ _You guys?”_

Mike furrowed his brows, and squinted at Richie. “Yeah you don't get to say that. You’re pasty as fuck.”

Richie nodded. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Cool.” Eddie threw his hands in the air. “Are we all done here? Can we stop ganging up on me…”

Stan snorted.

Richie smiled. “Stanley. Stanley say it.”

Eddie shook his head. “No! Don’t say it.”

Stan nodded. “No, it’s fine.”

“Yup! You’re right. Now let’s just change the subject...ooh look, Stan it’s a bird!”

“Say it.”

“Don’t say it.”

“ _Stanley_...”

“ _Stan…”_

The boy was quiet for a few moments.

“Stan? Got anything you wanna say?” Mike asked. 

He fought back a smile. “No, I just think ‘ganging up’ was a really poor choice of words in this case…”

“ _OOOHHH!”-_ Mike, shaking Richie’s shoulders.

“ _OOOHHH!_ ”- Richie, jumping up and down with Mike.

“ _AAAAHHHRRRGH!”_ -Eddie, tugging at his own hair.

Stan and Bill and Ben laughed along, while Eddie walked a little faster than his friends and flashed his middle finger. “You’re all the fucking worst.”

...

“Things are r-r-really good here,” Bill said, his ear pressed to the phone. “To be honest it kind of w-w-worries me.”

“Hmmm, looking on the downside of things?” Bev said, but Bill could hear the smile in her voice. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“It’s not the downside,” Bill said. “I love h-h-hanging out with them. But ever since the summer I keep getting worried that something b-b-bad is gonna happen every time we’re happy for too long.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Bev said. “Sadly I think it might be more of a human thing than a, you know, Pennywise thing.”

Bill never understood how easily she could mention...It.

“Oh, sorry. Eddie told me I should stop saying Its name when I’m talking to you guys…”

“No, no, don’t w-w-worry. I think it’s for the b-b-best that I try to move on.”

They were silent for a bit. 

“You can a-a-ask about it, Beverly. I know you w-w-want to.”

“I’ll only ask if you want me to.”

“I’ll only a-a-answer if there’s something you wanna kn-kn-know.”

“Okay. I guess just...how are you holding up?”

Bill took a moment to think, but not too long. He didn’t want Bev to think she’d crossed a line. “Pretty g-g-good, I think. I’m still p-p-practicing with his r-r-room, for now.”

“Oh. How’s that going?”

He wanted to say the truth. He never liked lying to the Losers, or lying to anyone anymore. Not after...

“I’ve been in a few times. Not too long, cause of my p-p-parents, but still.”

“Hey! That’s awesome. That couldn’t have been easy.”

Bill shrugged even though he knew she couldn’t see him. “No, but I think it went a little b-b-better than I expected. I’ve still got a week until the d-d-da...so I still have some t-t-time.”

“Well, I’m rooting for you.”

He smiled slightly. “Same here. I’m sure things’ll settle down in P-p-portland soon enough.”

Bev blew a tired gust of air up her face. “You think so? I don’t know. Even dead Bowers is still fucking with me- not actually fucking, I mean. Because apparently that wasn’t clear to some people.” 

“I’m sure it’ll d-d-die down soon. People stopped looking at us funny after the first w-w-week or so.”

“So you’re back to business as usual?”

Bill took a moment to think. “More or l-l-less, I guess.”

Bev sighed. “It just sucks that I can’t come see you guys. There’s busses that could take me, but my aunt doesn’t want me travelling by myself and she can’t get away from work for the weekend.”

“Yeah, we’ve all been trying to see if we could m-m-make it down there sometime, but it’s hard with…”

“Parents and grandparents and stuff.”

“And bus ticket prices.”

“Yeah, I get it. Don’t even worry about it.”

“I’d still really like to see you though.” Bill smiled. “I mean if you’re a-a-able to come back for just a day or something. All of the other L-l-losers would too.”

Bill’s dad called for him to get off the phone and go to bed.

“Duty calls?”

“More like the ph-ph-phone bill.”

_Bev laughed. “That’s relatable.”  
_

Bill smiled. “Goodnight, Beverly.”

“Goodnight Bill.”  
She hung up, and left him with a feeling in his stomach that didn’t go away until he went to sleep. But on the walk to his room he held his hand beside his face to keep his view solely on where he was heading. He didn’t want anything else to be his last memory before going to sleep that night.

_One week later_

Bill didn’t want to open the blinds that day. He didn’t feel it was appropriate, not when he was feeling the way he was. Not when he knew exactly what day it was less than a minute after waking up. Still, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower and into his clothes, and headed downstairs for breakfast.

“Like I told Stanley, he’s busy today,” His father said over the phone. “So tell the rest of you to please just _stop_ _calling_ , alright?”

Bill dumped some cereal into a bowl and some juice into a glass and let everything turn to mulch in his mouth.

His father hung up the phone. “Your friends have got to be the most annoying group of teenagers ever, Bill. I don’t know why they insist that you see them on today of all days when you see them every damn day now.”

“It’s called being there for me.”

Bill didn’t dare look at his father.

“Really?”

He ate, but felt like throwing up.

“ _Really_ , Bill?”

“S-s-sorry.”

“On today of all days…”

“...I-I-I’m sorry.”

His father laughed. “You know what? I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that you’re so busy wanting to have fun with your friends that you can’t even be bothered to visit your own brother’s...”

His father took a deep breath. Bill tightened his fist around his spoon and stared down at the kitchen table. Thankfully, it wasn’t long at all before his father left the room. But not before saying:

“And change your clothes, will you? You’re going to a cemetery, for God’s sake. A little respect wouldn’t hurt.”

Bill glanced down at his shirt, and waited for his father to leave. “G-g-georgie liked this sh-sh-shirt.”

He finished his meal and washed his bowl and headed upstairs. He stopped for a moment, just in front of Georgie’s room. 

He took in a deep breath. 

“I guess I’ll s-s-see you soon.”

…

What bothered Bill the most about this morning was that it was just like every other. There were no dark clouds hanging above in the sky, no mist of fog over the gravestones. Everything was...normal. Meaning the only way to tell what made this day so painful, other than from simply knowing, was the fact that Bill was standing in front of his brother’s grave. 

His mother was sniffling, tears and snot leaking out from every orifice of her face, while his father did that strange, dad thing to do where he didn’t quite cry, but was constantly clearing his throat to the point of practically vibrating. But Bill felt...empty. He wasn’t quite sure how to explain it.

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. _Let it out,_ he thought. _Just let it all out._

But nothing came. He thought long and hard about his brother, the memories they’d shared, how it felt to lose him, what he might say if Georgie was there right now. But he couldn’t manage anything more than an ache in his chest. He felt awful. Was his father right? Did he really somehow just not care about Georgie? This was the day of his brother’s _death_. He tried to remind himself of that. Closing his eyes, he tried to think of that morning one year ago, the last time he saw Georgie. He thought of the storm drain right near his house and he thought of the clown popping up, and the things It might have said. He even tried to picture Pennywise feasting on his brother, almost able to hear the little boy’s cries for help. 

Imagining all that made him want to throw up. But he did it so he could feel something, so he could do something other than just...stand there. He knew this was Georgie’s grave. He knew that exactly one year ago his sweet, innocent little brother was taken away. But he didn’t feel any of that. To him, he was just staring at a stone in the dirt, one of many other stones in the dirt. This one just happened to have his brother’s name written on it. 

Bill looked over at his parents. They were acting like people should at a grave, when visiting someone you loved. But Bill? He felt...almost fine. He tried again to make himself cry. He heard once that opening and closing your eyes again and again would do the trick, but all he got was a little water in them. 

In the end, he opted to just stand by and wait for the visit to be over. 

__________________

Pennywise let Its jaw drop to the floor. Literally. It expanded Its mouth and sent Its jaw falling cartoonishly to the floor. 

_“W...w….what was that?!”_ It stomped on the ground again and again and then jumped and kicked at the air. _“Stupid Billy! Stupid stupid stupid selfish Billy! Getting my hopes up for...for that!”_

It sat down onto the floor and held Its knees, rocking Itself back and forth. _“All that waiting and no tears. Not a single one!”_ It smashed Its fist against Its head again and again. _“Stupid stupid selfish Billy!_ ”

The clown folded Its arms and huffed, before climbing back onto the hammock It had made for Itself from scraps of bloody clothing and some chains. The same chains, actually, that the Losers used against It.

Pennywise growled to Itself. _“Next time I’ll just stick to Stanley Boy. He’d never disappoint me like this. Remember that time with the razor at his wrist? Now_ that _was worth waiting for!”_

It suddenly felt a tingle on Its leg, and when It sat up It saw an ant, crawling along from the hammock. The clown giggled in disbelief, and pinched the insect between Its fingers and threw it into Its mouth. Unsurprisingly, the meal lasted nowhere near long enough. 

Pennywise turned Its head, and stared out at the tunnels of the sewer. _“You deserve more than a tear, Billy.”_ It scratched along the chains for a moment, letting the sound croak through the air. _“You all do.”_

__________________

Bill didn’t go out that afternoon like he’d planned, if only to avoid dumping matches and gasoline on what was left of his relationship with his parents. So instead he did homework. On a Saturday. This was a new low, even for someone who willingly called himself a loser.

The phone rang a few times, but each time his father would shoot him a look and he’d let it keep ringing. A little bit before supper it rang again, and after darting his eyes to see if his parents were still in the kitchen, he ran to the phone, the other one that they kept in the basement, and picked up.

“H-h-hello?”

There were five distinct sighs of relief and one “Thank fuck.”

“Where the hell were you?” Eddie asked. “We’ve been calling all day worried your dad killed you, or you killed your dad, or you both killed each other or something…”

“...guys I’m f-f-fine, really,” Bill said.

“Are you sure?” Ben asked.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m sh-sh-sure.”

“So you’re not like, sad or anything…” There was the sound of a hand slapping against an arm. “...ow! What the fuck, Stanley?”

“You’re being fucking insensitive, dude.”

“Alright, alright. I just wanna know how he’s doing. How would you ask?”

“I don’t know, I’d just put it differently.”

“Ben, you’re the poet. How would you say it?”

“I don’t know...maybe in a way where we aren’t talking about him like he’s not on the other end?”

There was a brief pause.

“Yeah, that might be smart. Bill, what do you think?”

“I’m fine,” Bill said. “Like I s-s-said.” 

The ceiling above him creaked, and based on where it came from, he could tell it was his mother or father looking around for him. “I g-g-gotta go.”

“What? Why?” Richie said. “We just started talking.”

“I can’t help it,” Bill said. “It’s my f-f-fucking parents. I have to go now or else I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you guys n-n-next.”

“Okay, bye Bill,” Eddie said. “Hope you feel better soon.”

“Yeah.” Mike sighed. “I mean, I was little but I still remember visiting my parents one year after the fire. I cried for hours. And I just want you to know we’re all here for you...”

“I gotta go. See you all on M-m-monday maybe.”

“Wait Monday-” 

Bill hung up, strangely glad to go join his parents.

…

The three of them had stayed silent ever since sitting down. Not even a ‘Pass the salt.’ But the meatloaf didn’t need any more salt. In fact, his mother had put a little too much for his taste.

Chews and gulps and the scratching of forks and knives against plates were the only sounds you could hear. Bill thought that maybe his parents were looking at him, but he didn’t want to look up and find out for sure. He just kept cutting off pieces of his dinner for himself, focusing on the processes of chewing and swallowing if only to distract himself from everything around him.

A few minutes later Bill decided to try his luck at breaking through: “This m-m-meatloaf is really good, mom.”

She cleared her throat, and nodded. “Thank you, Bill.” 

His father stayed silent. 

Bill thought of something else to say. “I-I-I…” 

His mother just stared down at her plate. His father joined her. 

_Why can’t I speak?_

“I-I-I…” 

He took in a deep breath, cleared his throat, and then took another deep breath. _Why can’t I fucking speak?_

He fought to breathe, all the while the room and the table and the adults stayed silent. 

When dinner was over he helped clean the dishes, and then headed upstairs to brush his teeth and put on his pyjamas. It was only seven-thirty and he’d just eaten, but he didn’t care. Whatever it took to wake up to another day. 

He walked to his room and instinctively held his hand up to block his view, before stopping and turning. There it was: the practice run for that day. The practice run that he was never able to practice on. 

Bill sighed. At least he’d never have to stop and look at that stupid room anymore.

…

A couple of weeks had passed, and despite the first day or so of everyone asking if he was okay every five minutes, things eventually got back to normal with the Losers. They stopped reminding him that it was okay to cry, and that what he was feeling was normal, and that they were there for him no matter what...not that he didn’t appreciate all that, because he did, but somehow it all made him feel...worse. He wasn’t sure. He just knew he was glad when they all just started joking around and riding their bikes and hanging out like normal again, without constantly reminding him that he should be sad. 

During that time though, leaves had continued turning colours and carved pumpkins started popping up, and it all gave Bill an idea. The Losers were still scared from the summer. They were trying to get over it, and they were all helping each other to do so, but they were still scared. So what better way to help themselves get over it than by reclaiming a holiday all about scaring people? It could be fun! They’d all get dressed up and get shit tons of candy and trade with each other, and they’d all be doing it as a team, as best friends, as a family. 

People’s reactions were a little scattered. But eventually everyone came around to the idea…well, everyone except Stan and Richie. Bill wasn’t surprised; a bit disappointed, sure, but at least Stan had an excuse. Richie just didn’t want to. Still, Bill was ready that October thirty-first to have a fun night with his friends. And he was actually glad Stan and Richie had chosen to hang out that night; at least if they weren’t going with the others they wouldn’t be spending the night alone. He only hoped they didn’t piss each other off too much. 

The phone rang and Bill sprang towards it, not caring what his parents might say. This call was too important.

He picked it up and smiled. “Hey, Beverly! Happy H-h-halloween!”

“What’s so happy about it?” 

Her tone was bored, like the words that should have formed a sentence were replaced with a series of uncaring sighs.

Bill furrowed his brows. “Huh?”

“ _My_ _whole_ _life_ _is_ _a_ _dark_ _room_. _One big dark room.”_

Bill’s jaw dropped. “ _That’s_ your Winona Ryder imp-p-pression?”

Bev laughed, and dropped the act. “Hey! I didn’t think it was so bad. Come on, let’s hear yours, Mr. Keaton.”

“No thanks,” Bill said. “I tried last week and my throat felt like sh-sh-shit for an hour.”

Even though the two weren’t in the same town anymore, and even though they weren’t (and never really were) a couple, they’d still decided to arrange their costumes together. Just for fun. Bill was Beetlejuice and Bev was Lydia. He had his doubts about the choice of character; after the summer he’d taken down the poster in his room, unable to stomach the thought of a fear-conjuring demon anywhere near him anymore. But if he and his friends were reclaiming Halloween, why not throw one of his favourite movies in too?

“How’d the hair turn out?” Bev asked.

“Uhh…” Bill massaged his scalp for a moment, feeling the combined grease from the gel and the electric green spray he’d used. “P-p-pretty good, I think. I tried to get it m-m-messy like you said, but I’m not sure it worked out. How’s yours?”

“Pretty great. Well I mean I’ve got the veil over my face and the hat too, so you can’t really see it, but still: I think I look pretty good in black.”

“It’s not p-p-permanent, is it?”

Bev laughed. “No, Bill. Trust me, you’re not gonna be green for the rest of your life.”

Bill chucked. “Good. Cause I like your h-h-hair. How it normally is, I mean.”

“Thanks. I...like yours too?”

Bill crawled in his skin for a few seconds.

“So who’s coming tonight?”

“Eddie, M-m-mike and Ben,” Bill said. “Ben’s coming a little early actually, cause his mom’s gonna be ou-ou-out for the night.”

“Oh, that’s cool. No Stan or Richie?”

“Richie thinks he’s too c-c-cool to go Trick or T-t-treating, and Stan’s…”

“...Stan.”

Bill nodded. “Y-y-yeah.”

“How is he?” Bev asked. “I’m worried about him. He sounds so sad in all his letters. The happiest thing he’s written is ‘At least I wasn’t eaten today’.”

“More than some people can say.”

Bill’s hand covered his mouth. 

Bev was silent for a few seconds. “Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...”

“...N-n-no, I’m sorry,” Bill said. “I d-d-don’t know why I s-s-said that…” He felt his chest tighten. His hands were shaking so much he could barely hold the phone. “I think I’m gonna g-g-go.”

“Oh, really? I mean I’ve still got time to talk before the party tonight…”

“No, it’s o-o-okay. I’ve still gotta finish my c-c-costume.” 

“Okay. If you want you call back when everyone else gets there…”

“...sure. I’ll t-t-try.” He felt like his throat was getting bigger. “Bye, B-b-bev.”

“Bye…”

He hung up, and tried to breathe. What the hell was wrong with him? Every week he waits for Bev’s calls, and every time he never quite feels ready to hang up. She was family, just like the rest of the Loser, so why was he in such a hurry to get off the phone? He didn’t even ask her about the party she was going to. Were things getting better in Portland? Was she happy there? He’d given up his chance to know, all cause of some stupid comment he’d made about…

He looked out the window. The sky was getting darker, but it was still cloudy, just like it had been earlier in the day, only now it was drizzling too. Just a bit, and it would probably go away soon, but it was still raining. But he was still going out with friends later. He still wanted to go Trick or Treating, even though when Georgie wanted to go out and it was raining he didn’t feel up to it. 

His eyes burned, and every breath was choking him. His dad was right. He was selfish. He was selfish when Georgie was alive and he was selfish now that he was dead. He couldn’t even cry at his brother’s grave. What the hell kind of person did that make him? He knew what it made him: stupid and selfish and heartless. 

Did he really think he could just move on, like he’d been trying to? Did he really think he could replace his brother? Yes, he did. All the more reason why he was such an awful person. He was a terrible big brother, the worst kind in fact because he didn’t fight with him or annoy him like most brothers did, but because he loved him. 

Because he loved him, and he let him die. 

Bill pushed himself out of his seat and ran up the stairs. He didn’t want to go Trick or Treating anymore. He wanted to call his friends and tell them he wasn’t feeling good, that he’d caught a cold and that they should all go on without him. There was only one place he wanted to go tonight. He knew he wasn’t allowed there, but still he walked through the forbidden doorway and took a seat on the floor, resting against the bed. 

Tears trickled from his eyes and mingled with the baby powder on his face, making them sting even more. He tried to wipe his eyes, but it was no use; the tears just kept pouring out of him. He wasn’t able to cry when he wanted to, but now all of the sudden he couldn’t stop. 

Bill looked up into his brother’s closet, the air choking him as it fought to get to his lungs. Somewhere in that closet could have been the costume Georgie would have worn that night, when the two would have gone door to door collecting candy, and of course Bill would give all of the best ones he’d gotten to Georgie. Memories that would have once been happy, now ruined. Because maybe scares weren’t the only part of Halloween Bill was trying to take back. Maybe all his talk about getting over the summer was just his way of getting his friends to help him with what he really wanted. Maybe deep down, this had all been about Georgie, about the family that was ruined, about the joy and light that was now snuffed out of his life forever. All because of him.

Bill felt the tears come, but he didn’t try to stop them this time. He wanted to cry. He _deserved_ to cry, to feel the guilt of what he’d done to his own little brother. So that’s what he did: he waited there, in Georgie’s room, not giving a shit whether or not his parents would find him there. There was nothing they could say, no punishment they could give him that could make him feel any worse than he already did.

Bill’s eyes widened. His head was feeling fuzzy. 

Something had happened. Something clicked in his brain. He wasn’t sure how, wasn’t sure why, but he’d felt that a sort of connection was established. But not between him and his brother. No. Between him and the thing that took his brother away.

__________________

Pennywise wasn’t quite sure how this happened, or if It even wanted it to. This had never happened before, and It had a feeling this would never happen again, but the clown had somehow reached out to Billy. It could speak to him, if It wanted to. And Billy could speak to It. The connection worked both ways, so long as Pennywise held it.

__________________

In that moment, Bill didn’t do anything he once thought he would if he ever encountered the dancing clown again. He didn’t run to the phone and call the Losers, letting them all know It was back and they had to fight one more time to finish It off. He didn’t shake in fear either, or scream and curse the demon for what It had taken from him, for what It had done to his poor sweet little brother. Instead, there was only one thing Bill wanted to do. He opened his lips and fought back the pain in his throat to say:

“Do you even feel sorry?”

He took a breath, his voice breaking down into sobs. 

“Is there even one p-p-part of you that... _feels something fucking human at all_?”

Even though they weren’t in the same room he could still see the clown, just as if It were right in front of him. Meaning he could see the smile on Its face as It answered him: 

_“Oh, Billy. Do you feel sorry for the hamburger you ate two Thursdays ago?_ ”

Bill froze.

 _“Well there you go!”_ It chuckled through the words ever so slightly. “ _There’s your answer, Billy.”_

He could feel Its grin lingering through Its words. He clenched his fist.

“Georgie wasn’t a f-f-fucking hamburger you son of a bitch…”

__________________

It laughed and broke off the connection, feeling the boy’s memories of the encounter fade with their link. Humans couldn’t understand something like that, so their brains forced them to forget, or else they’d be driven insane. And while Pennywise would have loved to see Billy struggle to explain what had happened to his friends, to see him cry and tremble and plead with them to believe he wasn’t crazy, It was still pretty happy with how things had turned out. 

Pennywise sat back against the dance box, and scratched Its chin. 

Turned out Billy was right: Halloween was pretty fun after all.

__________________

Bill had been crying in Georgie’s room for what must have been an hour when he heard the doorbell ring. He should have gotten up to greet his friend. He should have finished his costume well before any of the Losers were supposed to come.

There were a lot of things he should have done. Neither of those really made his Top Ten list.

He’d left the door unlocked, so soon enough Ben just walked in and headed up the stairs. That’s how it was with all of the Losers; they were close enough that they could make themselves at home in each others’ homes, except in Eddie’s because of his mom, but that wasn’t exactly his fault and they all knew he’d return the hospitality if he could. Eddie was a good friend. A great friend, actually. Exactly the kind you’d want. Not like Bill. Not at all. He didn’t pretend to be the Losers’ leader. He didn’t constantly drag them into things just to relieve his own guilt. He didn’t nearly get them all killed or make them go Trick or Treating when he knew they were all scared. None of the other Losers did. And Bill knew they didn’t hate him. But he also knew that they had every right to.

“Bill?” 

He didn’t look up from his hands. 

“Bill I’m here! Sorry my costume’s so lame, it was sort of a last minute thing…”

He heard the footsteps stop in front of the doorway. Bill couldn’t even turn to look at his friend.

“Bill?”

Bill nodded.

Ben started to walk in. “Hey, what happened...” 

“Don’t come in h-h-here.”

Ben stopped in his tracks.

Bill fought back the sobs. “It's b-b-bad enough that I’m h-h-here.”

Ben paused. “Okay. Yeah. I can stay out.”

Bill opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Ben must’ve had something in mind, only if that were the case he was choosing to keep it to himself. To give his friend some time. 

“G-g-georgie and I used to go Trick Or Treating,” Bill said. “One year his friends wanted to go with him, but he said no. Cause he wanted m-m-me to take him.” He wiped some tears from his face. “And I couldn’t even be bothered to go s-s-sailing a stupid paper boat with him.”

“You were sick, Bill, it wasn’t your…”

“I wasn’t that sick, Ben.” 

There. He’d finally said it. The four words he thought he could never tell anyone. The truth that tinted his grief with dread and shame, following him around like filth on the tangles of a mop. “I was sick, but that’s not why I st-st-stayed home. I just didn’t want to go. I just didn’t feel like it and now he’s....”

Bill held his breath, and with it the word that would have followed.

Ben was still silent. He still couldn’t look over at the other boy. He didn’t want to see the look on his face, now that he knew he'd placed his sympathies with the wrong person. Bill didn’t deserve anyone’s condolences, or empathy. He passed that point the moment he let Georgie wave goodbye through his bedroom window.

“You know…” Ben fought back his words at first. “I wasn’t gonna say anything, but I kind of know a bit of what you’re going through.” 

He was silent for a few seconds. 

“My dad died when I was really little. It’s been just me and my mom, almost for as long as I can remember.”

Bill stayed silent. Ben never really talked about his father before. He wanted to let his friend speak.

“I see pictures around the house, and my mom will tell me a little about him every now and then. But there’s nothing I really remember.” Ben paused for a few seconds. “And sometimes that makes me feel like I don’t really have a right to be sad. Cause...how can I be sad about someone I don’t even remember?”

Bill choked on his words for a bit. “I-I-I noticed your dad was never around, but I didn’t wanna a-a-ask. I didn’t want to make you unc-c-comfortable.”

“Yeah. That’s kind of what I thought.”

Bill took a moment to think. “Are my p-p-parents somewhere close?”

Ben dashed to the staircase for a moment. He came back and said, “No, I...I don’t see them.”

“Okay. You can come sit if you want.”

“You sure? I mean I can just come back later, if you want. I’m sorry for being here so early, I should’ve known it would be…”

“No, I-I-I want you to come in.” Bill cleared his throat, his face cold from dry tears but somehow still unbearably flushed. “I-I-I don’t wanna be alone.”

Each step Ben took was cautious and delayed, but eventually they brought him down in front of the bed, sitting next to Bill.

“I d-d-didn’t even cry at his g-g-grave, Ben.” 

Ben waited a moment. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t care.” 

“Mike c-c-cried at his parents’ graves.”

“Everyone’s different. There’s no right way to miss someone.”

Bill sniffled. He felt the skin below his nose chafe from cold mucus.

“My mom never cried when we’d visit. She was sad, but she always kept it in. I don’t even know if she was trying to. But at home sometimes, when she thought I wasn’t listening...that’s when she’d cry. When she was alone where they used to be together.”

Bill took a breath, and looked up at the room. The stuffed animals stayed in their places, unmoving, untouched. The bedsheets were never untucked. The walls never echoed anything other than silence. 

“I don’t know how I can f-f-forgive myself.” Bill coughed. “I don’t even know if I w-w-want to.” 

“Bill…”

“He’d still be alive if I had just g-g-gone with him.”

“Bill, don’t do this to yourself…”

“I killed him Ben. He loved me more than anything in the world and I-I-I fucking killed him.”

“Bill, you can’t blame yourself. You didn’t kill him: It did.”

“Only because I wasn’t there with him.”

“Please, stop it. Blaming yourself won’t bring him back, and I don’t think Georgie would have wanted you to remember him this way.”

Bill paused, and turned to Ben for the first time that afternoon. “What if it’s the only way I c-c-can? What i-i-if I let myself move on...and I forget him?” He shook his head, and slowly broke into sobs. “I can’t forget him, Ben.”

The other boy wrapped his arm around Bill and let him collapse against him.

“You won’t, Bill. You won’t forget him.”

Bill took a breath. “How do I kn-kn-know for sure?”

Ben gestured around him. “Look, Bill. He’s right here.”

Bill looked up at the room.

“Whenever you need him, he’s right here.” Ben turned to face his friend. “What’s something fun you did here? The two of you, I mean.”

Bill thought for a moment, and pointed to a shelf. “There’s L-L-LEGOs in there. We b-b-built those together, except when he wanted to try by himself. But he’d always end up asking for h-h-help.”

“Okay. What else?”

Bill craned his neck to see the bed. “W-w-when he had nightmares, I’d get up and stay with him until he f-f-felt better again.”

Bill sat up, and pointed to the pictures hanging on the wall. “I h-h-helped put those up. With our dad.” Bill smiled a little, and sniffled. “H-h-he was so proud when he drew them in school that he wanted to h-h-hang them up. He wanted to sk-sk-sketch like me someday.”

He stood up and walked over to the head of the bed, picking up some of Georgie’s stuffed animals; he’d put them right back when he was done, but for now he just wanted to hold them a little, and remember. “Wh-wh-when he was really little he and I would p-p-play with these, and I’d do the v-v-voices to make him laugh.” He chuckled a little. “He knew all their names.” 

Bill set the toys back down and took a seat on the bed. Looking around, he noticed he still felt the ache in his chest. The pain in his gut. But he felt something else too, this time. Something he hadn’t quite been focusing on before: he felt like his brother was still there, in some small way. He felt close to him.

Bill sniffled one last time, and wiped the tears from his eyes. Just then, he eyed the drawings on the wall once again. 

The doorbell rang. 

Bill turned to Ben. “C-c-can you get that?”

Ben nodded. “Yeah, sure.” He left the room and went down the stairs. 

Bill walked over to Georgie’s closet, and pulled out a black marker from a box of art supplies. He wasn’t thinking of putting on any more makeup than the baby powder at first; with the green hair and the pale skin and the white tape on the black blazer he never wore, he thought people would figure it out. But now he walked over to the bathroom, reapplied the baby powder, and then drew dark circles around his eyes and coloured them in. He looked at himself in the mirror, focusing in on his new improvement, then looked back at the empty bedroom and smiled. 

“Now you can come Trick or Treating with me, G-g-georgie.” 

Bill put everything back in its place, finished putting on his costume, and walked down the stairs to see Ben and Mike and Eddie sitting on the couch. 

“Hey!” Mike said. “Wow, you look amazing!”

“Th-th-thanks,” Bill said. “You...too?”

“I’m…”

“No! Don’t say it!” Eddie said. “We had a bet. If you guess it right, I owe him an arcade token.”

“Go on, Bill. You know what I am, right?”

“Of course he doesn’t know what you are, no one fucking knows what you are…”

“Let him speak!”

Bill furrowed his brows and looked at the white sheet draped around his friend’s torso, the headband made from gold tin foil, and the red cape behind him. “Are you...Superman?”

“HA!” Eddie said.

“What? No!” Mike said, gesturing over himself. “I’m a guy from Ancient Greece!”

Bill’s jaw dropped. “Ohhh. I see it now.”

Ben locked eyes with him, and Bill just shook his head ever so subtly. 

Mike rolled his eyes and whispered from the side of his mouth: “At least you can _see_ my costume.”

“Hey!” Eddie said. “It’s supposed to be below fifties tonight.” He patted the large winter coat that made him look five times bigger than he actually was. “I’m not getting harassed by pedos _and_ pneumonia in one night.”

“And here we go…” 

They all grabbed their garbage bags as Bill quickly told his parents where he’d be and what time he’d be back, and then just as the others had headed out to the street, turned to look up the stairs towards Georgie’s room, and sighed with choked breath.

“Happy Halloween, Georgie. I really wish you were h-h-here.”

He wasn’t though. His memory was, and it always would be, but Georgie himself wasn’t.

“Hey Bill!” Eddie called. “You coming?”

But the Losers were.

“Yeah.” Bill wiped his eyes, and turned around. “Yeah I’m coming.”

...

The rest of the night was just as fun as Bill had hoped. The others even admitted they were glad Bill convinced them to go. Every now and then, especially as it got darker, there’d be some asshole older kids in freaky costumes who’d join the stream of children in hopes of doing...whatever asshole older kids in freaky costumes want when they go Trick or Treating, but Bill made sure the Losers were all okay and soon enough they had learned to deal. 

Even though not every house answered to them, they’d managed to fill their bags by the end of the night, and they decided it was time to head back to Bill’s and start negotiating what they wanted to keep or trade. They stayed in their tight group of four, meaning it wasn’t very easy for Bill to get Ben alone when he wanted to talk to him, but once they arrived at his house Mike needed to go to the bathroom, something that would be kind of a big production given the nature of his costume, so Bill seized the chance to tell Eddie he could start inspecting their candies and stayed with Ben in the vestibule. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Ben asked.

Bill took a breath. “I wanted to th-th-thank you, for earlier.”

“Oh. It’s no big deal. I mean...we’re friends.”

“We a-a-are...but you have to admit things have kind of been a little weird. You know. Because of B-b-bev and all.”

Ben held his hands in the pockets of his Spider-Man hoodie. “Yeah, I was hoping we’d kind of just never really bring that up.”

“I don’t think that’s working. Ben, I wanna be friends. We _are_ , friends. So let’s just say that from now on, we won’t be w-w-weird about...any of that stuff.”

Bill held out his hand. “Deal?”  
Ben smiled, and shook it. “Deal.”

The two stood in silence for a few seconds. There was something else Bill wanted to tell Ben. Now that they were moving on from the whole Bev thing, and all. He should clean the slate. Not keep any more secrets. 

“Bill I kissed…”

“B-b-ben I kissed…”

The two looked across at each other. 

Ben’s eyes were wide.

Bill’s eyes were narrow. “You were joking, right?”

Ben forced a chuckle. “Yeah, Bill. Definitely.”

“Okay. M-m-me too.”

They exchanged one last knowing nod, and then headed into the kitchen to find three piles of candy bars and bubble gum packets and gummies, and Eddie with his chin resting on the table. 

Soon enough Mike made his way to his friends. “Hey Bill I’ve been thinking, and I’ll take you up on that Kit-Kat offer…”

“Guys shut up. I’m not done yet.” Eddie stood up for a second to overlook the piles, nodded, and went back to resting on the table.

Ben reached for a Reese’s Pieces but was quickly swatted away.

“Not yet.” Eddie pinched a Jolly Rancher between his fingertips, slid it over to one pile, furrowed his brows, slid it over to another, and then finally brought it back to its original place. 

Bill and Ben and Mike all leaned in.

Eddie darted his eyes up to them. “You guys want your candy?”

They all nodded.

“You guys want miniature razor blades to go along with them?”

They all shook their heads. 

“Then let me finish.”

They left him there to inspect and stayed in the living room for a bit. About ten minutes later Eddie walked up to them, ushered them back into the kitchen, and pointed to the three piles: one small, one large, and one with maybe fifteen candies give or take.

He pointed to the fifteen candies. “There. Those are the safe ones.”

The boys turned to stare at him, eyes wide and mouths gaping open.

Eddie smiled proudly. “Dig in!”

Everyone lost their goddamn minds.

__________________

Pennywise rolled Its eyes, but smiled nonetheless. Although it did dampen Its mood a bit, the clown wasn’t too upset at how well the four Losers’ night turned out, or at how much fun Bev was having at her party with her new friends. Interesting enough things were developing with the remaining two Losers. They’d started off happy, with their silly little games, but now thankfully, their night was about to take a turn for the worse. 

__________________

Stan and Richie were frantically smashing buttons, their pixelated avatars on screen punching and jumping and kicking each other until one of their health bars emptied and the game declared the other its winner.

Richie backed off from the console and threw his fists into the air. “Trashmouth: five! Stanley: somehow less than the number of girls who’d kiss him!”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stanley said with an exasperated laugh, throwing his head back before looking at his friend. “How the fuck did you get so good at this?”

“Training, dude,” Richie said, puffing his chest. “Lots of blood, sweat and tears. Just picture what it’s like when it’s your time of month.”

“Oh wow, you’re so cool Richie. I wish I spent all my time playing video games like a nerd.”

“Shut up. It’s a fun game, dude.”

“Right. You sure it’s not the costumes? You sure watching all these buff guys doesn’t get you all excited?”

“I’m sure I had more fun spending my summer here and not studying for my fucking bar mitzvah.”

“Hey!” Stanley pointed and laughed. “That’s a Jew joke! We said no Jew jokes tonight!”

“What- who said that was a Jew joke? That’s just stating a fact! If you want me to say a Jew joke I’d say ‘I’m glad I spent my summer here and not playing with whatever parts of my dick my dad hasn’t sliced off yet.”

Stan let out a strange mix between a frustrated sigh and a belt of laughter. “Dude, for the last time: I still have a dick!”

“Yeah. Sure you do.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You’re just jealous cause one day all the girls are gonna be chasing me and you’ll be alone at forty.”

“Whoah, whoah,” Richie said. “Bev said I ‘grow into my looks.’ And she said you still look the same, so I’m liking my odds better.”

“Yeah, and she said I get taller,” Stan said proudly. “You don’t even know what ‘growing into your looks’ means.”

“Sure I do: it means I’m still gonna be the same total catch that I am now.” Richie gestured to Stan. “What do _you_ have going for you?”

Stan smiled and opened his mouth...and that was it. The playful look on his face dropped, and his posture sank a little.

“Oh my God, you can’t even come up with…” Richie stopped. Stan wasn’t laughing. Or smiling. He didn’t even look...he just looked blank. 

All Richie could manage next was “...oh.”

Stan forced a small, awkward smile. “I don’t know. I’m probably like, a good listener or something. I’ll ask Bev next time she calls and get back to you.”

“Yeah.” Richie was crawling in his skin. “Sounds good.”

Stan rummaged through his pockets and picked out some change. “You think we’ll have enough money for a few more rounds?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Totally. I’ll let you pick the game this time.” 

Stan furrowed his brows. “Oh. You don’t wanna keep playing Street Fighter?”

“Yeah, I do, but we’ve been playing that for a while now. I’m good to switch it up if there’s something else you’d rather play.”

“Oh. Okay…” Stan looked around for a moment, and then laughed a little. “This is really more your place than mine. I’m not even sure what I’d pick.” He took a moment to think. “Actually I’m just gonna go get some water for a sec.”

“Oh okay, I’ll come with…”

“No, it’s okay. The fountain’s just down the street, and all the Trick or Treaters have been little kids since we’ve gotten here, so I think I’ll be fine.”  
Richie looked out the window. “Dude, it's like, pitch black outside _and_ Halloween. You sure you don’t want me to come with you, I mean I don’t mind…”

“No, no it's fine. Really. I think it’ll be good for me.” 

Richie opened his mouth to speak, but Stan was already heading out the door.

“Just stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Wait, Stanley you sure-”

“Pick something you think I’ll like for when I get back.”

“Wait, Stan-”

The door closed, and Richie furrowed his brows. _Does he wanna get away from me that bad?_

He turned, and started walking around the rest of the arcade. They could get a memento of the night at the Photo Booth, but it’d be weird since it was just the two of them. Skee-Ball was always fun; they both sucked at gym class, but it wasn’t technically a sport so their aim was somehow automatically better. Then Richie eyed this thing called Fortune Coin, which he hadn’t seen before, so it must’ve been one of those games that got shipped off from better arcades who didn’t want it anymore. But imagine Stan’s face when he comes back and finds out the game Richie chose for him was called _Fortune_ _Coin_? A game about collecting money? His friend would totally flip, and of course Richie would deny that it was another Jewish comment and soon enough the night would get back on track after...whatever Stan’s weird moment was. Richie had known him for a long time, and he’d known his friend was never exactly _cocky_ , but come on: he couldn’t think of anything he had going for him? That was just sad. And Richie did kind of feel like the night’s sudden change in mood was his fault, so there he stood by the Fortune Coin console, smiling with anticipation for Stan to get back.

A couple of minutes passed and Richie was still waiting. _Shit, is the water fountain really that far? Could’ve sworn it was just across the street, like Stan said...well maybe it's actually further and he decided to dive in somewhere and buy a bottle or something. Yeah. That’s probably it. He’s fine._

Richie shook himself off and tried to just focus on something else. _Why did Stan wanna go alone? If he freaks out about something, it's not my fault. He wanted to go alone. I said I’d go with him. Not my fault he wanted to be stubborn._

About five or so minutes later Richie was getting restless. _Where the fuck is he? He wouldn’t just ditch me like this. We were having so much fun. Something must’ve happened. Maybe he got lost or something? What kind of fuckin dumbass gets lost on their way across the street? Then again it's Stanley, so I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised._

He wasn’t sure if it was thirty seconds later or ten minutes but eventually Richie just left the arcade and decided to go looking. _He said he’d be right back. Where the fuck could he be?_

He was brushing past some Trick or Treaters but wasn’t focusing much on any of them, and instead looked around all over the street until... _You’ve gotta be shitting me._

A little further up ahead there was a small child- _a small child_ \- dressed in baggy yellow pants and red pom-poms, and wearing a big red nose. He was with a few friends, who were dressed as superheroes or firemen or something, but the kid was the only thing Richie could possibly hope to see on the street. 

His first instinct was to go beat up the little fucker. No actually- he didn’t look that much younger than him. Probably eleven. Richie could totally kick his ass and not even feel sorry about it. Served him right for dressing up as a fucking clown. But his next instinct, and the one he acted on, was to rush over to the nearest alley so he could have someplace quiet to breathe. Or try to, at least.

His insides were rumbling. He was feeling queasier and“ queasier by the second. “Just a kid, alright, it was just- not like ‘it’ as in _‘It’_ like as in- it’s not like that- Jesus Fuck!” 

His throat was hurting, and he tried his best to calm down. _Stop...just don’t freak out, okay? Just don’t freak out…_

He heard what sounded like choked breaths and sobs. Only, to his surprise, it wasn’t coming from him. 

Richie turned and squinted, vaguely able to make out a shape in the shadows of the alley. “Stanley?”

He walked over to the other boy and was about to take his seat.

“Go away, Richie.”

Richie furrowed his brows. “Wait, what?”

Stan didn’t take his head out of his hands. “Go home.”

“What? No! Dude, I’ve been looking for you, I’m here to see if you’re okay…”

“...I’m not. There’s your answer. I’m not okay. I know _it’s_ stupid and I know _I’m_ stupid but I’m not. And I never will be, so just go.” 

“Stanley, it was just a little kid, and yeah it fucking sucks but I got scared too so you don’t need to be….”

“I didn’t see a kid.” He sniffled. “I didn’t see whatever kid you’re talking about.”

Richie was pretty taken aback. “Oh. So why are you…”

He didn’t finish his question. He hoped Stan would cut him off, but the other boy only continued to whimper in his little ball on the floor. 

“Stanley, it’s okay. Let’s just get out of here.”

His friend didn’t answer.

“Stanley come on. I’m not just gonna fucking leave you here.”

His friend didn’t answer. 

“Stan? Stanley?”

He heard the other boy take a deep breath. “I’m messed up, Richie. I’m really, really messed up.”

“No, you’re not. Okay? You’re just scared. We’re all scared, we’ve been through a lot...”

“Oh really? I’m just scared? _Everyone_ _else_ is just scared, I’m…” He paused for a moment. He sounded like he could barely speak. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Richie looked around for a moment, if only because it was the one thing he could do with confidence in that moment. He didn’t know how to help. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Everything he’d tell Stan, the other boy would probably spit back out. Should he just leave? Give his friend some space?

“You can go, Richie.” Stan sniffled, and looked up at the other boy. His eyes were red and watery, and his face was flushed. “You don’t have to feel bad about it. We were having a good time until I ruined everything. You just wanted to have fun, and I don’t know if I even can anymore, so just go. I’m sorry, Richie. I really am.”

Richie took a second. There was no way Stan actually wanted to be alone. But would he even be any help? What could he possibly say or do to make the other boy feel better? They didn’t teach this stuff in school, not that Richie would have listened. 

He reached for his friend’s hand to pull him up, but the other boy didn’t take it.

“Stan come on.”

Stan didn’t move.

“Stan come on. Let’s go get our minds off it. You’ll feel better if you do, I promise.”

Stan stayed seated.

Richie sighed.

“Okay. Fine. If you wanna sit here and do nothing all night, that’s fine. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Richie suddenly got an idea.

“Actually...just stay here, okay? I’ll be right back.” Taking a breath, Richie walked backwards for a few steps, and then turned and ran out on the street. He was doing the best thing he possibly could to help his friend. No doubt in his mind.

__________________

 _“Thank you, Stanley Boy.”_ It sat back on the hammock. _“Always knew you’d come through whenever I needed you. I take back...hmmmm...none of the awful things I’ve put you through.”_

Its belts of laughter echoed through the sewer as It sat and waited for the night to be salvaged.


	4. S+R

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stozier has entered the chat.
> 
> Also: one year ago today, the teaser trailer for It Chapter Two came out!! So in honour of that, I'm posting this chapter. I'm sorry I haven't been updating as often as I said I would. I'm gonna be honest: I have not been doing so well. Let's just say that right now I'm in a state of mind I do not wanna be in like all the time, and I've still very much got some tears left to cry, but hopefully soon I'll be picking it up picking it up loving and living so we turn it up. 
> 
> Or, you know, something like that.

Stan sat there in the alley, alone and trembling. _Somehow I’m not even surprised this is where I ended up tonight._ Richie had just left, and although he told Stan to stay right there, he knew the other boy had probably just gone to get their bicycles so they could call it a night and go home. 

He was disappointed. He was disappointed, and he was embarrassed. He was embarrassed, and he was angry. He was angry, and he was scared and he was shaking and he was sick to his stomach, and he was hot and cold at the same time and he wanted to move. He didn’t want to just sit there anymore. But every time he thought about leaving the alley his mind went wild with thoughts of a clown or a painted lady waiting for him as he turned the corner. The alley wasn’t much better though; it was dark, only the smallest portion of it lit by nearby streetlights, and though Stan never turned his head, he still imagined what might jump out from the shadows. He couldn’t leave the alley, but he couldn’t stay there either. He was trapped. Stuck. No hope of moving on, or getting past this.

And he suddenly realized he wasn’t thinking about the alley anymore. 

Stan sniffled. What was he trying to prove by going out there anyways? That he was over everything, or just as brave as the Losers who’d gone Trick or Treating? He wasn’t brave. He was broken. So what if he fought or wasn’t afraid that last day at the Wellhouse? If Pennywise were there right now It would have already torn him to pieces. 

Stan took a deep breath, and waited for Richie to come back with their bikes. He was broken. No doubt about it. And he’d ruined the night for both him and Richie.

He rolled up his sleeve, and glanced at the scars on his arm. He’d made up some bullshit excuse before his friends could even ask what happened, just so he’d have something to fall back on in case they ever saw, which Mike and Eddie already had at this point. Neither caught on to his lies; Mike just said “Whoa. I mean I fall on my bike too sometimes, but never that bad”, and Eddie gave him a list of ointments he could get at the pharmacy to keep the wounds clean and prevent any infection. He felt bad lying, but they wouldn’t understand. None of them would. They’d just yell or call him crazy.

Stan would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a little crazy nowadays. 

__________________

Pennywise waited in the sewers, almost ready to explode with excitement. What a turn the night had taken! From the disappointment of Billy learning to cope with his grief to _this_ ! It didn’t want to get Its hopes up, but with the way Stanley Boy was feeling It did hope he’d take out the razor again. It just _loved_ when he did that. The pain he felt, the way he thought it made him feel better when all it ever did was hurt him...the days when the Loser scratched or cut himself were always the best kind. Maybe he’d go at it again once he got home. It didn’t celebrate Halloween, though the holiday did seem fun, but that would be the greatest treat It could have hoped to receive that night. 

Closing Its eyes, the clown could feel Stanley’s pain, his fear, the way he wished he could feel better but was convinced he never would, and It wondered why It even bothered to stay down there. If anything, It could go up, just eat Stanley, and come back down. But the others would know something was wrong if their friend went missing. And they wouldn’t be scared; they’d be sad, and angry, and they’d drop everything without a moment’s hesitation to go back to Neibolt and search for the boy. What a surprise it would be for them to find his devoured corpse floating through the air! But It wasn’t about to take a chance on fighting the other Losers again. Stanley Boy was a safer bet, but the others? They could still win. In fact, there was a very high chance they would. And that if they did, Pennywise may not live to see another cycle. 

Pennywise folded Its arms, and growled. The ache in Its stomach was becoming noticeably more painful. _“Come on, Stanley Boy. Make your friends’ happy, happy night worth it for me.”_

__________________

About a minute or two later Stan was still sitting against the wall. He’d rolled the sleeve back over his arm; the night air was cold, and that was proving to be enough of a distraction for him for now at least. He didn’t even feel the need to scratch or cut. He just felt like going home and getting to bed before anything else happened that night. 

_“Pssst.”_

Stanley furrowed his brows. 

_“Pssst! Stanley? Are you still there?”_

Stan looked over at the street. “Richie?”

The other boy made his way past the corner, holding a jumbo sized drink in each hand. “Hey. Sorry for the whispering, I didn’t wanna just pop up out of nowhere and make you shit yourself.”

Stan looked down at the boy’s hands. “What’s…”

“Oh.” Richie looked down at the drinks, and then up at his friend again. “I, uh, wasn’t sure if you would’ve wanted a cherry or a coke slushie, so I got one of each.”

Stan sighed. “Richie, you didn’t need to…”

“Dude, don’t worry. I was gonna get one anyways. Plus you paid for the arcade tokens, so this makes us even.”

Stan wasn’t sure what to think.

“I mean I could just have yours too if you don’t want it...”

Stan chuckled slightly, and then paused. “I’ll take the cherry, thanks.”

Richie’s smile dropped for a moment. “Okay so I actually really wanted the cherry...”

Stan rolled his eyes and took the coke, but smiled nonetheless.

__________________

Pennywise stared ahead.

It took in a deep breath. 

_“Why can’t I have just...ONE GOOD THING?!”_

__________________

Stan and Richie traded the alley for a bench overlooking the street. The more Stan calmed down and the more slushie he drank, the better he was feeling and the more he was able to handle, and actually even appreciate the parade of Trick or Treaters. He’d ignore the scarier costumes and focus on feeling the cool air of October’s last night, the way the moon and the streetlights and the decorated storefronts glimmered and brightened the town. 

“Do you remember when we were that little?” Stan asked.

Richie took a sip of his slushie, his lips and tongue bright red as he said: “They’re not that much younger than us. We’re not all secretly eighty year old men like you.”

“Maybe it just seems long ago,” Stan said. “You know, we’d meet up at Bill’s house and get all dressed up, and Eddie couldn’t always come cause of his mom but when he did we were all so excited he was there with us.” He drank some more, and then shrugged. “I wonder what it may have been like, if Mike and Ben and Bev had been part of our group before this summer. I mean when you think about it, by the end of the year we’ll have spent more time apart than we ever had together. That sucks.”

“Wow, this conversation is fun,” Richie said, turning to Stan. “How’s your slushie?”

“Pretty good. Yours.”

“Same. Wanna trade?”

“Sure.”

They swapped drinks, each slurping for the optimal amount of time to steal as much as possible. 

Stan nodded. “I like mine better. Yours is too sweet.”

“Wonder what would happen if we mixed them.”

Stan snorted.

“Wanna try?”

“Ew, dude. No.”

“Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“It’ll be fucking gross. Why waste two perfectly good slushies?”

“ _For science, young Stanley!”_ Richie’s British Guy™ was in full swing. _“For_ _the_ _sake of discovery, and venturing into the vast unknown like a cock heading full force into its first vagina.”_

Stan furrowed his brows and tried not to laugh.

Richie took the lid off his drink, and stared over at Stan expectantly.

“Okay. Go ahead.” 

“Yes!” 

Stan took off his lid and rested it on the bench, following Richie’s lead as the two poured a good amount of each icy drink into the other’s cup. The bright red plunged into the dark brown, the two mixing together before the boys put back the lids and shook the cups. 

“Cheers.” 

“Cheers.” Stan took a sip from the straw, and instantly winced.

“Oh-” Richie coughed. “-fuck that was a bad idea.”

Stan coughed and put the drink down, swishing around the saliva in his mouth to rid it of the taste.

“Ah shit- I thought it would taste like cherry cola, not fucking ass blood.” 

“Yeah thanks for putting that image in my head.” Stan took a moment to think. He was still quite thirsty. Picking the cup back up, he took a sip, and then furrowed his brows.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“You know it's actually not that bad.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No really. It's almost like it’s so disgusting that it goes back to being good again.” He took another sip, and cautiously Richie did the same.

“Huh. You’re actually kind of spot on.”

“Right? I told you so.” Stan looked over at the other boy. “Thanks for this again.”

“No problem. You know you’re my go-to when I wanna make a stupid deciscion.”

“No, I meant… _this_.”

“What? Buying you a slushie? Seriously, I was just paying you back. I feel weird when people do me favours out of nowhere like that.”

Stan furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“I don’t know, it's just this thing I have. It makes me feel...weird, like I said.”

The two took their final slurps at the exact same time, and then put the drinks down.

“When I said _this_ though, I didn’t mean the slushies. I meant...tonight, I guess.”

“Oh. It was no big deal. I figured, you know, why should we both be alone?’

“Yeah. Plus, we haven’t really hung out much lately.”

Richie laughed. “What fuckin planet are you on? We hang out every day.”

“No, I mean just us. I never really thought about it until earlier tonight, actually. Don’t get me wrong, I love the guys and all, but it's different with us. We were close before them.”

“You make it sound like we’re not anymore.”

Stan shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess I just feel like things are different with us now.”

Richie smirked, and turned to face him completely. “Awww, Stanley, are you saying you missed me?”

“What? No!” Stan said. “No, I just…”

“You did miss me. Can’t say I’m surprised, cause everyone loves me. Parents excluded of course.”

Stan stayed quiet for a moment. “I’m just saying: we’re friends, but before this summer we weren’t just friends. We were...you know...best friends.”

“And now we’re not?”

Stan thought for a moment.“I guess all the Losers are kind of our best friends now.”

“Screw that. You still wanna be best friends, then let’s still be best friends.”

Stan smiled, and shook the boy’s hand. “Deal. Still best friends.”

“Yeah. Still best friends. Right up until I get rich and famous and forget all of you.”

“And I move on to someone I won’t wanna strangle every five minutes.”

“Pfft. Lame.”

The two sat on the bench in silence for a bit longer.

“What time do you have to go home?”

“Uh...my dad never really said, actually, which is weird.”

“Huh. So I guess technically then you could stay out all night.”

“Yeah. I mean technically, yeah. What time do you think it is?”

“Not sure.”

“We should probably start heading to our bikes, then.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Stan and Richie stood up and threw their cups in the garbage, before heading over to the arcade where they’d locked their bikes.

“I’ll drop you off then head home?”

“If you don’t mind. I mean, I know you don’t like biking alone at night either.”

“I’ll be fine.”

They undid their locks and started walking their bikes down the street.

“I’ll follow your lead?”

“Yeah.”

Stan walked a little quicker to gain momentum, but right as he was about to hop on he heard Richie say:

“Or you could stay?”

Stan balanced himself back on the ground, and turned around.

“Or, I mean, you could stay out a little longer. We don’t have to go home just yet.”

Stan took a second to think. “It’s...probably really late. We spent a lot of time at the arcade before. And it's a school night, so my parents will be pissed if I’m not home soon.”

Richie looked down at the floor. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Stan furrowed his brows. “Why, is there something you wanted to do?”

Richie shrugged. “I don’t know. Just...hang out, I guess.”

Stan paused for a moment. “Well I mean...this doesn’t have to be the last time we hang out like this.” He looked down at the floor, while Richie stared on. “What are you doing this Friday?”

“Probably hanging out with the Losers like always.”

“Right. Same here.” He felt like slapping himself. “We shouldn’t ditch them…”

“...but on Sundays everyone’s usually busy.”

Stan looked up at his friend again.

“Sunday nights, I mean. Cause it's a school night. If you want we could hang out then.”

Stan smiled slightly. “Okay. Yeah, sure.”

“I mean only if you want to…”

“I mean it's up to you…”

The two stopped speaking for a moment. They stopped...doing anything, really. They just stood still, and then laughed awkwardly.

“I guess it might be fun.”

“Yeah. If I’ve got nothing else to do, you know.”

“Yeah, same ” Stan felt a sort of weird buzz deep down in his stomach. But it was a warm feeling too. Like bees were flying around inside him, but the bees were covered in honey, but he could somehow taste it from the walls of his belly...it didn’t make much sense.

Richie slid his hands into his pockets, and then slid them out again and wiped them on his pants

With that they hopped on their bikes and rode their way across town, the wind in their hair as the minutes ticked closer to midnight. Stan wanted to look back and see if Richie was okay, but every time he tried he got nervous that he might lose control of the bike and crash. So instead he’d call: “Richie? You good?”

And then Richie would call back: “Yeah. You?”

So Stan would reply: “Same here.”

Soon enough they made it to Stan’s driveway; the boy hopped off and walked his bike to his garage, locking it away and closing it shut before turning back to Richie. 

“You’re still okay to bike home?”

“Yeah I’m fine.”

“I’d ask if you wanna sleep over or something, but I don’t think my mom or dad would...”

“No no yeah. I get it. I’m okay to bike home, really. I mean it.”

“Okay. I, uh, guess I’ll say goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, Stanley.”

He kicked a pedal in front of him and started biking home, calling out “Hey, let me know if your mom can walk straight tomorrow morning! I might have to be gentler next time.”

“Yeah. Will do.” He rolled his eyes, turned and walked to his front door...but looked back at the street to see Richie pedaling away. 

He wasn’t sure why he did that. For some reason it just sort of felt right to him. 

…

Richie stopped pedalling, and turned to look back at Stan’s house. The door was closed, which meant his friend was inside and on his way to bed. Richie smiled softly...then shook his head. He felt weird. In his stomach, and in his cheeks a little. _I’m probably just coming down from a sugar high or something._ Still he turned around and pedaled, making his way back home. It wasn’t unusual for him to go fast, partially because it was fun and partially because he didn’t like being alone at night anymore, but that night he felt like he had some energy to burn off. Some excitement. He had a good time. And he was really looking forward to school the next day, even though that seemed crazy. He just really liked being with his friends. 

Best friend included, of course.

__________________

Pennywise was kicking and huffing and smashing Its head against the wall. This wasn’t fair. It had never felt this way before. So overwhelmed with rage, and disappointment, and rage against Itself for being stupid enough to let Itself get this disappointed.

 _“Every...“_ Pennywise hit his head. _“...time I…”_ It hit it’s head again. _“...think I’ll feel happy…”_ And again. _“...they…”_ And again. _“...take it…”_ And again. _“...away!”_

The clown ripped and tore at Its hair, and punched Itself in the face over and over again until blood was gushing from Its mouth. Only towards the end Its hands felt...different

It looked down at Its hands for a moment and saw that, in fact, they _were_ different. They’d changed. They were smaller now, with beige skin and scars on one forearm and a wrist. 

At first, It smiled. It wasn’t broken anymore. It could shift forms again, or was at least starting to gain back the ability to. It didn’t have to be trapped in this embarrassment anymore, this constant reminder of Its failure to kill those seven children. But then something else crossed Its mind. About why Its hands had changed into Stanley’s, of all the Losers. Perhaps because It had been thinking of that boy all night, hoping for him to come through and bring It happiness, only to be betrayed and disappointed yet again. But perhaps there was another reason. One the clown didn’t want to admit. 

Pennywise chuckled with outrage. _“I’m not like him! Any of them! They’re...children! They’re food! We have nothing in common except the need to see the other crawling with worms.”_

Pennywise wasn’t quite sure what to do next. It knew Stan would be having his usual nightmare sometime soon. That would cheer It up. 

Instead, the clown opted to stop Loser Watching for the night, and felt the seven slip out Its grasp once again. It hopped back onto the hammock, and shut Its eyes. Yes. Seeing Stan have his nightmare would cheer It up.

It just didn’t care.

...

The next day Pennywise only watched the Losers for a part of the morning. It had missed some of their nightmares, but still got to see their sleep-deprived selves try to crawl out of bed in time for school. That was fun. But when Bill and Eddie and Mike and Ben gave Stan and Richie their shares of the candy, and when Richie met Stan by his locker at recess to see how the other was doing after the scare he’d had last night, Pennywise lost all patience with them. It tried to watch Bev, but It just didn’t have the energy. It tried to keep watching all of the Losers, but It just...didn’t see the point. What was It even doing, anyways? Plotting for Its return? Celebrating the misery in their lives? They were only miserable sometimes. They were happy more often than not, except for Stanley, and even he would still laugh and smile every now and then! Sure, Bev still didn’t feel exactly at home in Portland, but she held onto _hope_ . Sure, Eddie pushed down the strange things he felt for Richie, but he still _enjoyed_ life. Sure, Mike was driving himself crazy scouring through records of the clown’s existence, but he didn’t care because he loved his _friends_ so much. Pennywise gagged. 

For the rest of the day, the clown struggled to find anything to do. It thought It had solved this problem when It started Loser Watching, but now things were back to square one. It ransacked the heap and searched the sewers for any rats It hadn’t already eaten and eventually settled on trying to get some sleep. It was tired. All the time now, ever since the summer ended, but still hopelessly unable to get any sleep.

Sometime during Its attempted nap, It was awoken by a most vivid sensation, something It had missed for far, far too long: It was eating again. Flesh, this time, not scraps or dried drops of blood either! And the flash was tasty too...it was scared! No- not just scared. _Terrified._ Truly, truly terrified. 

It dug Its teeth further and further into Its newfound meal, tearing through clothing and tasting the fear like never before...literally, like never before. Something was different about this meal...it had a different taste to it. A strange taste. Almost as if it weren’t real flesh at all, but an imitation. And it didn’t taste quite like children either.

Pennywise opened Its eyes. Something was wrong. It was filling Its belly again, and for that It was happy and grateful, but there was this excruciating pain in Its arm It couldn’t quite place.

That’s when Pennywise looked down at Its arm and saw that pieces of it had been bitten off, the ruffles of Its sleeves now drenched in blood that seeped from where Its rows and rows of teeth had torn into Its own flesh. 

The clown screamed and screeched and wailed, tears bursting from Its eyes as It fell to the ground. It crawled backwards, as if trying to get further away from Its own arm, but the limb was still attached and the fear and blood and flesh of Its own form still called to It. 

Pennywise could barely breathe. Was this what Stanley Boy felt? Or even the other Losers, for that matter? This inability to be in control of your own mind? Of your own feelings? Was this...fear? No. Of course not. Pennywise wasn’t afraid of...no. No It wasn’t. Even though yes, Its last word before taking Its rest was “Fear”...but the clown had chalked that up to in-the-moment panic shortly after. But now with this...It couldn’t lie anymore. It knew It was afraid. It had _tasted_ Its own fear. It could deny the truth for the next twenty seven years, but that wouldn’t change anything. It would still be scared, It would still starve, and It would still be the one hiding while Its enemies did as they pleased. They’d beaten their fear, even if in the moment. So maybe Pennywise could try to do the same. Just run out there, find the Losers and kill them all right now.

So that’s what It did. It crawled at first, but once It’s hands touched the tunnel It got up and ran as fast as It could, arms and legs flailing in the air and the water until It saw the light of the barrens. It was facing the Losers. Right now. In an unprecedented incident It was breaking Its patterns of hibernation and going to the outside world. It would show up at their school, or at Mike’s farm, or in Portland wherever Bev was and devour them on sight. No plan, no disguises, nothing. Just them, and whatever was left of the clown after what they’d done to It. 

The sky was in view. So was the grass. And the water where Ben had fallen into, that moment he’d first met the Losers Club. 

It couldn’t wait anymore. It would just die. It couldn’t take knowing It had failed, knowing what It had become, the lows It had reached. 

In no time It had reached the entrance to the barrens. But instead of running out and taking action...It just stayed there, and sank to Its knees, as the realization of what had been ailing It finally came to light. 

It was scared. It was feeling fear, not exploiting or feasting on it, but feeling it for Itself. That was a violation of Its very being. But this was more than that. 

It was lost. For the first time in Its existence, It didn’t know what was going to happen to It. Its belly wasn’t full, Its enemies weren’t so easy to defeat, and surviving another cycle wasn’t guaranteed. 

It was lost. It was uncertain. And It was very, very afraid. 

The clown took a seat in the water, and hugged Its knees. 

_“Fear.”_

The word sounded differently this time...or rather, not at all. In fact, the word sounded exactly like it did the last time It had spoken it. Pennywise had just been in denial all this time. 

_“Fear.”_

So what was the plan now? Get revenge, or go back and wait and starve some more? Spend Its days Loser Watching? That wouldn’t work any longer. The Losers were terrified or sad or upset from time to time, but It was much worse off than any of them. But...what else was there to do?

 _“Fear-”_ _  
_

A bird flew down into the grass to pick up a worm. Pennywise glanced over for a second, stared at the thing’s beady little eyes, and then lunged forwards and chomped its head clean off. The meal wasn’t much but It still savoured what It could, the blood and the shock of the animal providing small, if insufficient relief to Its pained stomach. However, it wasn’t long before a little squeaking sound chirped through the air; Pennywise looked up at the sky and saw another bird flying through the air.

Another bird. Not the same one. A different one. Same kind of creature, but slightly different, and it wasn’t the only one. There were thousands of same-but-slightly-different ones out there.

And suddenly the clown realized It was no longer thinking of birds. No. It had gotten an idea. A risky idea. A terrible, laws-of-reality-defying, risky idea.

Pennywise took a breath, and huffed so deeply Its head jingled a bit.

_“Alright. Perhaps it's time for a little break.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The next chapter is going to be dealing with the multiverse, meaning there will be various AUs starring the Losers Club popping up throughout! I had a ton of fun writing it, and hopefully you'll really enjoy it too. 
> 
> Until next time,  
> Alex M-M


End file.
